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SEA PLUNDER 


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SEA PLUNDER 


BY 

PATRICK CASEY 

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BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


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Copyright, 1925 

By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

(Incorporated) 


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Printed in the United States of America 


THE MURRAY PRINTING COMPANY 
CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 

THE BOSTON BOOKBINDING COMPANY 
CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 



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FOR RHODA 
MY WIFE 


I 



SEA PLUNDER 






SEA PLUNDER 


CHAPTER I 

At one end of Richards Street in Honolulu, out 
of a park of hau trees, looms the Executive Building 
of the Territory, formerly the Iolani Palace of Queen 
Lil; at the other end, down by the waterfront, squats 
the ramshackle doss-house and blind pig of Pilikea 
Pete, boarding master, bootlegger and seamen’s 
runner. The three or four blocks intervening be¬ 
tween the two sites mark a wide difference — the 
difference between the Honolulu the tourist sees and 
raves about, and the Honolulu that other tourist, 
the sailor, knows only too well. 

The Hon. Weymore Harbottle, senator of the Ter¬ 
ritory and president of three different sugar com¬ 
panies whose interlocking directorates made them 
function secretly as one, came down the broad stairs 
of the Capitol this noon, swinging his Malacca stick. 
Emerging from under the hau trees, he started down 
Richards Street in the direction of Trouble Pete’s. 

Pilikea means trouble in the Hawaiian language 
and Pete had certainly earned the moniker. But not 
alone by swindling and shanghaiing sailormen. When 
one of the higher-ups like Senator Harbottle was in 
trouble, he usually made tracks toward Pete’s, and 
this, in the long run, meant trouble for some em- 
1 


SEA PLUNDER 


ployee, competitor or poor relation, and perhaps for 
some shady captain with a barnacled barky lying in 
the roadstead. 

Senator Harbottle was hapa haole , half white and 
half Hawaiian. He was tall, sharp featured, sallow 
complexioned and thin as a reef-point. His father, 
a missionary to the Eight Isles, had married the 
daughter of a native chief. The woman had had 
an affair with a Portuguese sailor prior to her mar¬ 
riage, but the missionary had seen fit to forgive the 
indiscretion because, at the time, the lands of the 
islands were being taken from the king and appor¬ 
tioned among the people according to rank; and, 
as the husband of a chiefess, he would thus come 
into control of a goodly share. It was this same 
inheritance of sugar plantations and Yankee astute¬ 
ness of brain which had made his son, Weymore 
Harbottle, one of the present-day powers of the 
Mid-Pacific. 

There are no shade trees in lower Richards Street, 
neither palm, algaroba nor monkey-pod; the guide¬ 
books show naught of interest to be seen in these 
waterfront reaches, and the sight-seer, as a result, 
seldom goes here on his book-conducted tours. The 
Hon. Weymore Harbottle had little need to fear that 
he should be recognized by one of his own stratum 
of society in this place of warehouses, Chinese gro¬ 
ceries and ship-chandler shops; yet, lending color 
to suspicion, he continually glanced behind him. 

Back up the narrow, dingy street, the hill called 
The Punchbowl lifted its green slopes and bowl¬ 
shaped crest against the sky. White clouds were 
2 


SEA PLUNDER 


hanging pendulously about the rim of the extinct 
crater, veiling the sun; the air below was sultry, 
close, muggy, portentous of rain. Garbed as he 
was in pongee and panama, Harbottle quickened 
his step lest the threatening downpour catch him 
before he reached Pilikea Pete’s. 

The headquarters of the Trouble Man was a two- 
storied clapboarded structure built partly on the 
wharf and partly on the coral formation which is the 
basis of the lowlands of Honolulu. The lower story 
canted out to sea and the upper works slanted in 
mauka or toward the mountains. The whole 
appeared to be held together more by the habit of 
years than any evident jointing of frame. 

There were two entrances. The nearer, leading 
to the floor above, had a four-square sign about a 
gas jet over the pavement, marked: “ Rooms Hapaha 
— 25 cents — per night.” Several dirty windows 
succeeded this and, pasted over, as they were, with 
the posters of local motion picture theaters, they 
gave to the lower story the desired appearance of be¬ 
ing vacant. Opening upon the ragged planks of the 
wharf beyond was the second entrance, formerly 
labeled “ bar ” but the word, on account of certain 
strictures of the Eighteenth Amendment, had been 
partly erased and painted over. 

Senator Harbottle looked warily up Richards 
Street, then strode past this doorway and around to 
the seaward face of the building. He seemed search¬ 
ing for something among the clapboards. At last 
he found it, on a level with his eyes, its black 
button gleaming from beneath the edge of one board. 
3 


SEA PLUNDER 


He pressed the electric bell with the end of his 
Malacca cane, as if fearful of soiling his hands. One 
short ring, then two long ones. 

Hastening back to the bar entrance, his eye sweep¬ 
ing up Richards Street, he waited. There was the 
sound of cautious footsteps from behind the door 
and garish panes; then the clatter of an overturned 
box and a mumbled curse. 

“ Who is it?” came in feminine voice. 

“ Wiki wiki , wahine!” ordered Harbottle in his 
most commanding tone. “Hurry up, woman! Do 
you want to make a holy show of me, keeping me 
waiting out here?” 

She must have recognized his voice, for there was 
immediately the sound of a bolt being slithered back. 
The door opened and he could see a slatternly 
woman in the semi-darkness. Just what her ante¬ 
cedents were would have been hard to tell even in 
the broad light of day; but it would be safe to say 
that in her veins ran a mixture of several of those 
races that had been brought to the islands, in the 
olden times, as contract laborers. She was part 
Chinese, Russian and Kanaka. 

“ Aloha, Hakaole,” she greeted him, giving the 
Hawaiian equivalent of his family name. But there 
was little welcome in her slant eyes. 

“How are you, Mrs. Pete?” said he, stepping 
quickly through the doorway; only, speaking in 
Hawaiian, his words were: “ Pehea oe?” He added 
brusquely: “ Is Pilikea in?” 

“ Your brother Pete,” she replied with malicious 
emphasis, “ is sleeping upstairs. But I’ll tell him 
4 


SEA PLUNDER 


you’re here. A whaler came in last night and he 
was up late-” 

“ Ssh, wahine!” He got her by the drooping 
shoulders, slamming the door shut behind him with 
his foot. “ Go easy, woman, on this relationship 
stuff! Of course, we know, but there’s small use 
bringing the whole world in on our affairs. Just 
tell him Hakaole is below with a little job for him.” 

“ Another poor devil to be shipped out of your 
way?” She spoke in an odd, clipped accent. 

“ Don’t I pay you well for it!” he retorted. 
“ What have you to complain of? But enough of 
this kamailio (talk)! I’ll go on into the office while 
you rouse Pete and send him down.” 

“ You know the way,” she replied with a mirthless 
chuckle, as much as to say he had been there often 
enough. She swished between the empty boxes lit¬ 
tering the floor, and in the dim light stealing through 
the dirty panes between the theater posters, he saw 
her press open a concealed door in the wainscoting 
of the opposite wall. This led, he knew, into the 
hallway leading up to the rooms above. 

He went on, between the boxes, through what had 
formerly been the barroom. The sound of clinking 
glasses and a whiskey-hoarsened voice reached him 
as he swung open the door in the far wall. In order 
to keep pace with the prohibition stringency, the bar 
had merely been removed from the front room and 
set up again, with all its mirrors and fixtures, in this 
back den. 

There were five men in rough working clothes 
footing the rail. Three of them looked like steve- 
5 



SEA PLUNDER 


dores; the other two were of a noticeably different 
stamp. One, a giant of a man, fully six and a half 
feet tall with chest bulging like a topsail, had the 
well-cut features, liquid eyes and even golden glow 
of skin of a pure-blooded Polynesian. He was prob¬ 
ably from some island below the Line, a son of the 
sun who had come up, no doubt, before the mast of 
some South Sea trader. 

The other, squat, burly and long-armed, in pea- 
coat, dungarees and cap, was evidently a sailor of 
some pretensions, perhaps the mate or even skipper 
of some scow. He it was who appeared to have been 
doing the talking in husky voice; but at the quiet 
opening of the door, he seemed to sense the presence 
of the newcomer. He swallowed the rest of his yarn 
down his throat and turned from breasting the bar 
to look at the tall, dapper hapa haole. 

His was an unforgettable face, but not alone be¬ 
cause it was ruddy from much weathering, with beet¬ 
ling brows and eyes small and sharp as gimlet holes. 
There was a salient scar on his right cheek, red and 
blue, as though recently received, and triangular in 
form as if it had been made, not so much by a knife, 
as by a wedge-shaped instrument. 

“ Hello, Joao,” Senator Harbottle nodded to the 
half-caste who was acting as bartender. And with¬ 
out further glance at the silent men, he went on into 
the tiny cubby marked “ Office.” 

In here was just room enough for a round table 
and four chairs. But Harbottle did not move from 
the threshold until he had carefully closed the door 
behind him. Then, before he took a step forward, 
6 


SEA PLUNDER 


he sounded the flooring with the end of his stick. 
It was as if he feared that the floor might contain a 
trapdoor which would spring open underfoot and 
chute him down into the sea lapping at the coral 
below. 


7 


CHAPTER II 


Satisfied at last that if there was a trapdoor it was 
secured sufficiently to hold his weight, Senator Har- 
bottle sidled on into the cubby and sank down on one 
of the chairs. This business of calling upon Pilikea 
Pete was not without great mental trouble to himself. 
He removed his panama and, throwing it upon the 
table, fell to dabbing his swarthy brow with a silk 
monogrammed handkerchief. 

Rumbling tones arose from the barroom; the 
scarred seaman was attempting to soften his 
whiskey-hoarsened voice into a whisper. This 
struck Harbottle as highly suspicious, and he opened 
the door behind him a crack the better to over¬ 
hear what was going forward. 

“Oh, him!” Joao, the bartender, was saying eva¬ 
sively. “ Oh, he’s some dude whose name I don’t 
rightly know; but I do know, Capt’n, he likes his 
liquor like a longshoreman!” 

“ And he kin pay for it better’n any longshoreman, 
I’ll bet! I’d jest like to have that lily-fingered 
dancing master aboard my spouter, I’ll tell you. 
We’d make a man of him in no time, or my name 
ain’t Ham Yardley!” 

“ You’d make cracker-hash of him, you mean, 
Capt’n!” spoke up one of the stevedores. There was 
a false note of flattery in his voice which showed 
plainly to the eavesdropper that he was cadging the 
“ Old Man ” for the drinks. 

8 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ But you’re sure he ain’t a revenooer?” insisted 
Captain Ham Yardley, as a laugh went up. 

The bartender must have shaken his head em¬ 
phatically; for with a merry, whole-souled laugh, 
a laugh that bubbled up from the well of his great 
throat and fairly shook the thin partitions of the 
room, the gigantic Kanaka interposed: 

“ Oh, come, Capt’n! Do you think he’d have the 
hang of this place like he was a sailor in his own 
bucket, if he was a revenooer? But let’s forget the 
fancy geezer! You was tellin’ us, sir, how you come 
by that scar.” 

“ Well, let’s fill up, men, and I’ll start in again.” 

There was a momentary silence, then the clink of 
glasses, a gurgling as of horses at a trough, a smack¬ 
ing of lips and then a resounding bang of glasses 
being replaced upon the bar. 

“ It was before we headed up into the Okhotsk 
Sea,” began Captain Yardley. “ We was on the 
Japan grounds, as I was sayin’, off the Bonim Islands 
no more’n three months ago. There was three other 
spouters lyin’ there in Port Lloyd — the Finback 
of Seattle, the Levi Brown of New Bedford, and that 
durned Grampus outa my own home port of Frisco. 
We was all standin’ out from Sail Rocks when ‘ Ah, 
blo-o-o-w!’ came down from the fore crow’s nest. 
1 There she white-waters! ’ 

“ ‘ Where away?’ I calls up to the lookout who 
happened to be my fourth mate, name o’ Petrie. He 
got stewed in here last night, ’member that, barkeep? 

“ Well, he pokes out his arm toward a spot about 
two points off the starboard bow and at the same 
9 


SEA PLUNDER 


time hollers down that the Frisco Grampus is alterin’ 
her course to come across our bows a good way 
ahead. But that didn’t faze me none. I crowded 
on every stitch of canvas the old Ballenas could 
carry, and with the fair breeze what was blowin’, 
the old bucket made a lotta noise as she banged the 
seas. 

“ ‘ Way down from aloft!’ I says to him and up 
I scrambles into his place. I hadn’t sighted the 
spout of that whale, but the lookout, as he slid down 
past me, says as how he reckoned it was a lone bull 
and that it had sounded. We hummed on for a 
coupla miles and then shortened sail and manned 
our boats by the davits, each with a mate in charge. 

“ Meantime that old hulk of a Grampus was 
workin’ up, with a bone in her teeth and every flap 
drawin’. But I wasn’t wastin’ my eyesight on her. 
I was watchin’ for that whale to come up, and so 
was every man-jack aboard. ‘ There she flukes!’ 
they all hollered at once and, sure enough, not a mile 
away and dead to leeward, there was that ornery 
cachalot beatin’ the water with the flat of his flukes 
as if there was no such thing as a whaleship in the 
hull Pacific. All to once a plume of vapor shot 
diagonally out from his spout, so I knew he was 
sparm all right. 

“ Out went the four boats from the ship’s flanks, 
the fust mate, Mr. Carthew, in the lead as was his 
right. They seemed an uncommonly long time get- 
tin’ sail up, so I bellowed down to them from the 
crow’s nest to bear-a-hand, for that old Grampus 
was also hove-to and lowerin’ away. In a shake 
10 


SEA PLUNDER 


there was eight boats convergin’ on that unconscious 
monster, so I decided to throw the balance in our 
favor by goin’ out myself. 

“ Well, mebbe you think I’m takin’ undue credit 
to myself, but I’ll lay to sail any small boat closer 
to the wind and faster’n the next man. I came near 
overhaulin’ my fust mate before ever we reached that 
whale. At any rate, my harpooner flung his iron 
almost at the same time as that of the fust mate. 
And then, wowie! Somethin’ struck me in the face! 
It was that harpoon from the chief mate’s boat off 
the Grampus . He was on the other board of the 
whale and his iron had jest ploughed up the skin on 
that bull’s back and, in glancin’ over, had hit me in 
the cheek. It was no more in than it dropped off 
into the sea; but it was enuf, I’ll tell you, to draw 
blood and set me hoppin’ mad. 

“ Now that was our whale because we had made 
fast fust; but that ornery harpooner in thet Grampus 
boat, not knowin’ his iron had pinged me and prob’ly 
thinkin’ it was stickin’ to the hitches outa sight in 
the blubber, promptly hurled his second iron. You 
see, he was on the other side of the whale and that 
old bull was raisin’ sech a helluva racket, tearin’ 
up the sea in his pain and rage, that he couldn’t 
see us. We let our line pay out around the logger- 
head— we usu’lly carries eighteen hundert feet of 
it in them two tubs aboard; but that whale, he began 
to sound ag’in and we had to tag on a square piece 
of plankin’ as a stopwater on the end of it, and then 
pass that end to the second mate who had jest come 
up. 


11 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ But I was glad to git rid of that line; I wasn’t 
interested no more in that whale. Me, I was jest 
crazy fightin’ mad. I ordered my crew to row round 
for that boat of the Grampus. 

“ ‘ Pretty fine ground this has got to be!’ I hol¬ 
lered with a lotta cuss words. 1 Can’t strike a whale, 
so you thought you’d strike me, you blarsted 
greenie!’ And we crashed into him. 

“ But they had a wild crew from south of the 
Slot of Frisco in that boat, and I guess I bit off 
more’n I could chew. They laid about them with 
their oars and irons and cracked the heads of three 
of my men. They would have swamped us, on’y I 
drew off and made sail to get back to the ship. The 
cooper, steward, ‘ Chips ’ and cook were still aboard 
and I meant, with the help of the fit ones in my boat, 
to run up with the ship and garner that whale for 
myself. 

“ Meantime, one of my boats was runnin’ line 
faster’n ever. The others had been forced to let 
go because there was fully five thousand feet out 
with stopwaters equal to the drag of a dozen whale¬ 
boats, and still that big mammal was soundin’. But 
as I got back to my ship, up comes that whale again 
a half a mile away and begins to range on at lightnin’ 
clip. It was awkward, I’ll tell you. If we let go 
our end now, that whale would be a free fish and the 
others would pounce down immedjit. If we held 
on, we should be certainly dragged below. My dis¬ 
engaged boats could do nothin’, for they were com¬ 
pletely out of line. 

“ Well, out ran the end of the line from Mr. 

12 


r 


SEA PLUNDER 


Petrie’s boat and he jest had to let go. The Gram¬ 
pus thieves, seem’ the boat jump up when released 
of all that weight of line and drogues, flew off to 
make fast ag’in to the laborin’ leviathan and lance 
him for keeps. But I brought up my ship close 
and, as luck would have it, that whale didn’t go into 
his usual flurry, but ca’mly expired without the 
leastest struggle. 

“ There was our boats hove all around it and also 
them boats off the Grampus. On arrivin’ at the 
dead whale, we found that he had rolled over and 
over so many times beneath the water that the lines 
was fairly frapped and snarled around him and there 
was no tellin’ whose line was which. 

“ Well, we held high conversation, spillin’ all kinds 
of compliments at each other. And then in the midst 
of it, I sighted a trailin’ end of line streamin’ beneath 
the surface and splash! off I leaped from the bul¬ 
wark and reappeared with the line in my teeth. I 
scrambled into the nearest boat, which happened to 
be Mr. Moseby’s, my second mate, and we started 
the crew to haulin’ toward our cuttin’-in stage. 

“ Then there was hell to pay. We had to fight 
them Grampus fellers with our lances, irons, oars 
and spades. But we beat them off finally and we 
got that whale — it netted us a hundred and twenty 
barr’ls of sparm. Still, what with broken heads and 
necks and p’ison settin’ in from the irons, it cost me 
six good men of my crew, a hull whaleboat load, and 
there was two or three more in the sick bay or else 
little use for weeks arter. 

“ So that’s what I’m tellin’ you, men. I’d like to 
13 


SEA PLUNDER 


ship the four of you aboard my spouter. She’s built 
by the mile and cut off in lengths as you want ’em, 
as they say, but she’ll lubber through ’most any 
sorter storm. And as for her skipper — well, you 
know me, boys. You’ve drunk with me and found 
me not so bad, I reckon. Why not sign up with 
me?” 

“ Can’t do it, Ham, old scout,” spoke up the 
familiar voice of the stevedore who had formerly 
used flattery. “ I’ve got a wife and three kids on 
shore, and the nearest my old woman will let me git 
to the sea is on a gangway leading into a cargoport, 
with a sack of rice or sugar on my back.” 

“ But how about you, Sammy? You’re a husky, 
I’ll tell the world. You’re built like a capstan, all 
shoulders and little waist with a coupla good under¬ 
pins. You’re jest like the Kanakas I used to see 
when I fust cruised down this way twenty year ago. 
What say to shippin’ aboard my packet on a one- 
hundredth lay; that is, for every hundred barr’ls of 
ile tried out, you’ll git one barr’l which you’ll sell 
back to the ship at the rate of twenty bucks. In 
other words, for every fair-sized whale we plug, you’ll 
kerlect over twenty simoleons. What say, Sammy? 
We’re on’y part filled now — twelve hundred barr’ls 
aboard — so you can figger to make at least three 
hundred dollars on the trip.” 

“ But how long will it be, Capt’n, before you figure 
to fill up?” 

“ Well, we’ve been out six months now. Say, with 
luck, six months more or at most a-” 

“ Capt’n Yardley,” spoke up a new voice, a voice 
14 



SEA PLUNDER 


that seemed to ring with authority, “ will you please 
step into my office here with me a moment?” 

There was the sound of shuffling feet, as if the 
men had swung around from the bar at the inter¬ 
ruption. 

“ Oh, hello, Pete! ” came in the husky tones of the 
whaleman. “ Sure I’ll step into your pigeonhole. 
But wait for me, men,” to the others, “ I’ll be with 
you in a shake. Fill ’em up, barkeep, and drink 
hearty, boys, while I’m gammin’ with old Pilikea.” 


IS 


CHAPTER III 


They came into the cubby of an office together, 
Captain Ham Yardley and Pilikea Pete. The crimp 
was a huge fellow who, although black as the ace 
of spades, still held himself with a certain unmis¬ 
takable air. He was the son of the Portuguese sailor 
and that Hawaiian chiefess who later had married the 
missionary, Harbottle, and thus was the stepbrother 
of the man who was waiting in the office, Senator 
Weymore Harbottle. 

It must be recalled that the prince consort of 
Queen Liliuokalani, John Dominus, was a Portu¬ 
guese sailor, and hence it will be seen that it was con¬ 
sidered au fait in the islands, at one time, to wed 
with the crews of visiting ships, no matter what their 
color or length of stay. Pilikea Pete’s father had 
hailed from the Canary Islands and perhaps on 
account of the proximity of those islands to Africa 
and the added fact that in the bygone days the old 
slave ships used to touch there, a strain of negro 
blood lurked far back in his veins. 

Pete himself was a sort of throw-back; to look 
at, almost a typical specimen of the full-blooded 
negro. To hear him speak was oddly reminiscent 
of the negroes of Jamaica, who are more British than 
the British; but in Pete’s case, having been gradu¬ 
ated by Punahoe College, the surprise was rather 
in the choice and nicety of his words, the even 
16 


SEA PLUNDER 


authoritative tone of his voice. Withal, he had mar¬ 
ried a woman of doubtful ancestry and was credited, 
besides, with being the best two-fisted man along 
the reef of Honolulu. 

He closed the door carefully behind him, at the 
same time nodding to his stepbrother. 

“ Hello, Hakaole,” he greeted. Then to the cap¬ 
tain, he explained, “ This fellow is all right. But 
what I want to know, Yardley,” he added in a low 
voice, “ is what do you mean by butting into my 
particular field of endeavor?” And he smiled wryly. 

The spouter skipper was teetering drunkenly on 
the balls of his feet and it was plain from the bleary, 
uncomprehending look in his gimlet eyes that he 
failed to grasp what Pete was driving at. 

“ Why, w-what do you mean?” he stuttered. 

“ Simply this: you’re trying to sign up these men 
in my very barroom! Don’t you realize that’s my 
business. What are you striving to do — take the 
bread and butter out of my mouth, knick me out 
of the advance money?” 

The captain got one arm about the burly shoulders 
of the boarding master. 

“ Oh, no, Pete! ” he insisted. “ I merely got started 
on a yarn which brought me round to realizin’ 
how short-handed I am and what likely fellows these 
bums are.” 

“ Lower your voice, Capt’n,” warned Pete in the 
same soft, even tone. “ You sound like a foghorn 
in distress.” 

“ But it’s true, Pilikea. Ain’t that right?” appeal¬ 
ing to Senator Harbottle. 

17 


SEA PLUNDER 


The hapa haole nodded, the while he dabbed his 
swarthy brow again with his handkerchief. 

“ I heard a bit of your yarn,” he admitted. “ I 
couldn’t help overhearing some of it, you know, Cap¬ 
tain,” smiling. “ But it’s true what he says, 
Pete.” 

“ Well, what of it?” queried Pete. “ Don’t I know 
all that — that you’re sorely in need of hands, that 
these muckers would just fill the bill? Why do you 
think I allow the swabs to hang around here, if I 
hadn’t something up my sleeve! You don’t take me 
for a fool, do you, Yardley? Say, didn’t I greet all 
your crew last night and make sure that none of 
them would be sober enough to go farther uptown 
and fly the coop? What have you to complain of, 
Capt’n Ham?” 

“ Nothin’, Pete,” the whaler shook his head. He 
was rapidly sobering under the barrage of the crimp. 
“Not a thing. On’y-” 

“ Well, now I’ll lay down the law and tell you 
what you’re to do. You’ve got to drink these fellows 
under the table, Yardley, and then we’ll stow them 
safe aboard. That Kanaka alone is worth two 
ordinary men and none of those longshoremen should 
be sneered at, for all that they’re not sailors.” 

“Right-o, Pete!” agreed the captain in a husky 
whisper, the scar on his cheek wrinkling like leather 
as he smiled broadly. “ That billet suits me down 
to my arctics.” 

“ You mean the drinking part, eh? Well, I 
haven’t finished about that, my dear fellow; wait 
till I’m through. How do you know you can drink 
18 



SEA PLUNDER 


all those muckers under the table and still keep a 
stopper on your tongue ?” 

“ Oh, I’ve no doubt of it, Pete! ” with an airy wave 
of the hand. 

“ Well, I have, Capt’n Yardley, and from now on, 
I’m putting you on a ginger ale diet. I’ll speak to 
Joao,” reaching for the knob of the door. “ Ginger 
ale will look precisely the same as some of this 
thick okolehou. 

“ But cheer up, Capt’n,” he added,, restraining his 
hand at the sudden sobering look on the skipper’s 
countenance, “ if I don’t mistake, I’ll not only be 
able to furnish you with those four muckers out in 
the barroom, but also with one more. I’m sure my 
friend, Hakaole here, has some one in mind who 
would enjoy undergoing a little real sea experience 
aboard your fish-bobber!” 

He looked toward the Honorable Harbottle (who 
was once more dabbing his forehead) and his thick 
lips curled back in an understanding smile to expose 
his strong white teeth. The captain turned quickly 
to face the senator. 

“ That so?” he asked eagerly. 

Harbottle negotiated a nod. 

“ Yes,” he said hesitantly, “ I have in mind a 
very likely man for you. And this whaling cruise 
is just the right thing for him, provided it’s long 
enough ——” 

“ Right as a right whale, as the saying goes, eh?” 
interrupted Pete, knowingly. 

“ Well, I couldn’t think of anything better for 
him, if I had to. Indeed,” admitted the honorable 
19 



SEA PLUNDER 


senator, “ I never dreamt of such a happy coinci¬ 
dence as a whaler, there’s so few come in here now¬ 
adays.” 

“ But who’s your friend?” probed the skipper as 
if anxious to get down to business. “ Is he a marline- 
spike seaman? Has he ever been on a spouter, or 
before the mast of a three-skys’l-yarder?” 

Senator Harbottle had to grin as he thought of his 
man in this connection. 

“ Well, I wouldn’t call him a sailor, though he’s 
seen a bit of the world; nor would I call him, Cap¬ 
tain, a friend of mine particularly. Merely an 
acquaintance, you understand — a fellow who came 
to the islands with a letter of introduction to me.” 

“Oh, yes; I get you!” The whaler winked the 
eye above the scar; he was beginning to discern the 
lay of the land. 

“ But he’s a husky lump of a lad,” Harbottle 
hastened to add. “ You can do something with him, 
Captain. He wants to leave Honolulu between two 
days, drop completely out of his former world for a 
good spell. I understood you to say, Captain Yard- 
ley, that it will be six months at least before you 
fill up with sperm oil and get back to San Fran¬ 
cisco.” 

“ Six months! ” snorted the lord of the grease 
tanker. “ Well, I ain’t the loose-jawed ‘ goney ’ Pete 
here takes me for! I’m sly and foxy, I am, even 
though I might look pretty drunk. I said six months, 
didn’t I? Well, let me tell you somethin’, mister: 
that information was on’y for the benefit of them 
swabs at the bar! We’re on’y about one third filled 
20 


SEA PLUNDER 


now, and our full cargo calls for two thousand 
barr’ls. Six months, huh! More like a year, I’d say! ” 

“ All the better, Captain! ” Harbottle’s thin and 
usually compressed lips broadened in a happy smile. 
“ The longer the better! But just where are you 
going to hunt and fish?” 

“ Oh, on the Line grounds next, and then prob’ly 
south through the Sea Islands to the Solander 
grounds off the lower tip of New Zealand. Your man 
will be a seaman by the time he finishes with me, 
I’ll promise you, or my name won’t be Ham 
Yardley!” 

“Pipe down, Cap!” warned Pete quietly. He 
was leaning against the door, one huge, black fist 
knotted about the knob and his ear to the crack 
between jamb and door. He appeared to have lost 
interest in the conversation; he was listening with 
all his auditory faculties to what was going on in 
the barroom. Suddenly he swung open the door. 

“ Joao!” he called. 

When the bartender came into the cubby, he 
said, closing the door behind him: 

“ I just wanted to inform you, Joao, that from 
now on there’s to be nothing stronger than ginger 
ale for Capt’n Yardley, no matter what he calls for. 
Understand?” 

The half-breed looked at the spouter skipper, then 
back at Pete and nodded. 

“ Ae” he said. 

“ But just a moment, Joao,” as he made to with¬ 
draw. “ Is that stevedore, Evans, trying to tear 
himself away?” 


21 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Ae,” nodded the bartender again. “ He says as 
how he has to git back to his job.” 

“ I thought I overheard something of the kind,” 
remarked Pete grimly. “ Well, you get back to your 
job, Joao, and I’ll put a shackle in Evans’ chain!” 

He closed the door behind the bartender with a 
bang. 

“ It’s that lean little wasp, Evans,” he turned 
round to breathe excitedly. “ You know, Yardley, 
that longshoreman who was slapping you on the 
back so you’d buy more drinks. He’s stewed to the 
eyes, but trust a Welshman, even in liquor, to gather 
what we’re up to! He’s shaking hands all around, 
saying he must be reporting back for duty. Come 
with me, Yardley, and entertain those muckers at 
the bar, while I secure this little Welsher to our 
swinging boom with a nice little guess-warp of my 
own patent! You mark my words, he’ll be the first 
aboard your blubber-boat!” 

Once more he swung open the door. 

“ Quite right, Capt’n Yardley,” he said (in what 
was a loud voice for him), as he stepped out into 
the barroom, followed by the skipper. “ I knew 
you’d favor my view once I had told you. It’s all 
right, as I say, to ship green hands; but in a port 
like Honolulu where I’ve seen so many as a score 
of whalers taking on fuel and water at the same 
time and there’s nowadays only a dozen or so call 
in a full year, you’re sure to be able to find a whale¬ 
boat-load of old, seasoned hands high and dry on 
the beach. Leave it to me, sir, just leave it to me to 
pick ’em up. . . . But what’s this, Evans, old 
22 


SEA PLUNDER 


top? Under way so soon? Why I thought when 
you finished discharging that old Maru after slaving 
all night, you’d call it a day!” 

“ My old woman, Pete-” 

“ Oh, just as you say; you know best! But I’ll 
show you the way out,” he offered with significant 
solicitude. “ I don’t want you bringing the police 
down on my head, Evans, by raising a rumpus 
among those camouflage boxes in front!” 


23 



CHAPTER IV 


Senator Weymore Harbottle was once more 
alone with his Machiavellian thoughts. Out in the 
barroom he heard Captain Yardley bellow for 
another round of drinks, then he heard the captain 
say: 

“ But why should us hard-workin’ men stand up 
to our licker? Let’s make ourselves comfy in a soft 
berth, like that dude in the office there. Come on, 
mates; here’s a table in the corner where we kin 
enj’y ourselves prime, with yarns and drinks!” 

There followed a creaking of the boards as the 
men stumbled and lurched across the floor; then a 
scraping and groaning of chairs. 

“ Here you are, sir,” came in the voice of Joao, 
the bartender. 

“ Looks like ambergrease, this licker, now don’t 
it, mates?” took up the captain. He was obviously 
making conversation and speaking at the top of his 
hoarse voice in an effort to drown whatever sound 
of struggle might come from Pete and Evans in the 
front room. “ Yet I’ve seen ambergrease white as 
a girl’s knee and ag’in as black as — well, Pete his- 
self! And alius there’s snarled in it chunks of cuttle¬ 
fish, thicker’n my arm.” 

“ It comes from the head of a whale, don’t it, 
Cap?” 

“ Well, I’ve heard yarns a-plenty to that effect, 
but I never cut none outa no case. Mostly, when 
24 


SEA PLUNDER 


I’ve raised it, it was arter we shot off a Pierce 
dartin’-gun and exploded a bomb in the whale’s 
tummy. Me, I think it’s food he can’t digest. But 
there’s the stuff to clap on to, mates! Catch it by 
the pound and sell it by the ounce! Why, I’ve heard 
tell of it fetchin’ as high as . . . But here’s Pete 
back ag’in! Have a drink with us, Pete, like a good 
shipmate?” 

“ Thank you, Capt’n, but not now, please. There’s 
a little matter awaiting my attention in the office. 
Bottoms up, boys; never say pau!” 

The knob turned in the door and Pete entered the 
cubby. 

“ Well, that’s Number One!” he smiled at his step¬ 
brother. 

“ That stevedore, Evans, you mean?” 

He nodded his black head and sat down in a chair 
opposite, the round table between them. 

“ Yes,” he explained. “ I clapped my hand over 
his mouth and squeezed his gullet till he went out. 
Of course, drunk as he was, I took chances of his 
stomach turning on him; but that’s my business. 
A sorry trade!” he could not help adding with a 
shake of his head. “ But let’s get down to brass 
tacks, Hakaole. Who is this fellow you want put 
out of the way? I realize you were only stringing 
the capt’n with that letter-of-introduction stuff and 
the in-bad business. What’s the true dope?” 

“ But does that matter to you, Pete?” the senator 
instantly hedged. “ You know I’ll pay you well for 
it.” 

“ My dear Hakaole, that all depends on the job. 

25 


SEA PLUNDER 


I want to know how hard a feat it is in order to 
determine whether you’re paying me handsomely or 
not. Maybe it’s too risky, this fellow too big a muck- 
a-muck, the job too difficult. Your shanghaiing 
schemes always have that element of risk to them; 
you’re bound to come a cropper some day; and for 
that and other reasons, you’re willing to make 
decent return to me. But don’t think I’m under any 
obligation to you; I know you’d sacrifice me, body 
and soul, in a pinch-” 

“ Oh, no, Pete; don’t think that! It’s unjust, 
inhuman! ” 

Pete smiled. 

“Well, let me tell you then, Hakoale, that I’m 
just that inhuman that I’d sacrifice you, my darling 
stepbrother, before I’d ever let them get me! Under¬ 
stand? Now shoot! I’m entitled to some informa¬ 
tion. I won’t go this blind.” 

“ Well, I’ll tell you,” capitulated Senator Har- 
bottle. He squared to the table and faced the other 
as if about to shrive his very soul. “ There’s a 
malihini (stranger) just come to the islands. He’s 
working as a reporter on the Morning Subscriber; 
in fact, I believe he’s the star man there. But that’s 
only a cover for his real work. He’s on the track 
of the war-profiteers. No; not for the federal gov¬ 
ernment as you might think, but for a national 
magazine. He’s gathering dope to write up a series 
of articles-” 

“ And you’re to be the subject of one of them, 
eh?” 

“ I’m afraid so, Pete, on account of the rise in 
26 




SEA PLUNDER 


sugar prices from the slump of 1913 to the heydey 
during the time of our participation in the war-” 

“ And the shortage?” 

“Yes; the shortage, too. Of course, I wouldn’t 
mind the publicity, only I’m fearful it may lead to 
popular agitation and governmental investigation. 
And I can’t stand that!” 

“I should say not!” Pete nodded, a peculiar ex¬ 
pression in his eyes. “There’s a federal law, I 
believe, against interlocking directorates and Mc¬ 
Neill’s Island is no nice place! And even the 
publicity might prove too much for a man like you, 
Hakaole!” 

“ W-what do you mean, Pete?” a bit fearfully. 

“ Oh, well, a man must be careful who has a 
marriageable daughter in society, no matter how 
much money he may have. And these pressmen 
have a devilish way about them,” smiling. “ They 
rake up a fellow’s past history, even the history of 
his whole tribe, in order to strengthen their case 
and show that such a financier could not possibly 
have the interest of the public at heart even in war 
time. Now in your case, Hakaole-” 

But the senator held up his hand. 

“ Don’t speak ill of the dead, Pete,” he fairly 
pleaded. “ Say nothing, if you can’t praise. I know 
what you have in mind; but my father was a man of 
sterling qualities. He came here a missionary, re¬ 
member -” 

“ And died a land baron! ” Pete continued to 
smile enigmatically. “ He treated me handsomely, 
didn’t he, my brother? That land belonged to my 
27 




SEA PLUNDER 


mother, not to him; and I was as much my mother’s 
son as you. But he cut me off with a mere provision 
for my education. He gave me the means to higher 
tastes and then left me to shift, without a penny to 
satisfy the tastes I had acquired. Oh, a man of 
sterling qualities indeed, hard as his own money. 
But that’s no never-mind today! What’s the name 
of this writer-fellow and what does he look like?” 

Harbottle half rose from his chair. 

“ You’ll do it, Pete?” Then quickly getting him¬ 
self in hand and sinking back, he went on more 
calmly: 

“ Neil Sherwood’s his name and he’s about five 
foot ten, good looking, with dark curly hair. You 
can’t mistake him because he’s still such a maiihini 
he’s still wearing a derby!” 

“ Oh, that’s easy!” laughed Pete, his mood chang¬ 
ing quickly — perhaps too quickly. “ He’s prob¬ 
ably the only man in the Eight Islands who wears 
a dicer, as the Frisconians call ’em. But how to net 
this type of fish is the question. Now if he were a 
poor bank clerk,” significantly, “ I’d only have to 
get the word to him about a luau with a lot of 
hooch, and he’d be landed. But newspapermen are 
suspicious folk. They don’t really know anything 
thoroughly, except, perhaps, news. But they have 
an insight into the tricks of many trades.” 

“ Why not appeal to him through his ‘ nose for 
news,’ as they call it?” suggested the senator. “ I 
have these fellows calling at my office in the capitol 
almost every day. It’s always, 4 Any news today, 
Senator? Have you received any freak letters from 
28 


SEA PLUNDER 


your constituents or even been out on an auto trip 
— anything that will make a little write-up?' ” 

“ You mean, then?" Pete hurried him up, as if 
undesirous of hearing Harbottle talk about himself. 

“I don’t know exactly what I mean, Pete," con¬ 
fessed the senator. “ But suppose I give you an 
idea of how we might snare this fellow. Imagine I 
have a telephone in my hand. Hello (imitating a 
man at a phone); give me Number 3487: that’s 
the Subscriber’s number. Hello, Subscriber? Give 
me the city editor, please. This the city editor? 
Well, this is Pilikea Pete speaking. Yes, the ship¬ 
ping man. No trouble," with a laugh, “ only I’ve 
got a story down here for you. You know the 
whaleship, Ballenas, that came in yesterday? Ahuh, 
that’s right; it is the first one this year. But that 
isn’t the yarn I have in mind. They had a big fight 
with the crew of another whaleship off the Bonim 
Islands, and not seeing any notice of it in your 
columns this morning, I thought you might like to 
run something about it. Yes; a big fight, several were 
killed. Of course, the skipper has their names. Yes. 
do that; send a man down. Who? Your best man? 
Oh, Mr. Sherwood, your star. Well, I don’t know 
him, but you can explain where we are located, at 
the foot of Richards Street. Thank you, good-by." 

He made a motion as if putting aside a telephone 
receiver and looked up at Pete. 

“ How’s that?" he queried, not without a touch 
of pride. 

“ But suppose that city editor doesn’t send this 
fellow, Sherwood?" 


29 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Oh, but of course he will! It will sound like a 
snappy sea yarn and he’ll want his most capable 
man to handle it. Then you can escort him in here 
and while Captain Yardley is entertaining him with 
his yarn, you can rush in the drinks, the roughest 
stuff you’ve got. Most newspapermen are drinkers, 
so it will be an easy matter. . . . Why, what’s wrong 
now?” 

Pete was shaking his head. 

“ Oh, nothing much,” with a grin; “ only that city 
editor will be after me before that whaler clears 
Diamond Head. Won’t he know who telephoned to 
him and that he sent his best man down to Pilikea 
Pete’s? He’ll put the fellow on his guard to begin 
with, and if anything happens he’ll hold me directly 
responsible. Nothing doing, my dear brother! I 
don’t stand any too well as it is, in this man’s town, 
but so far I’ve managed to keep out of the news 
columns. You’ll have to use your thinker to better 
purpose, Hakaole! Remember this isn’t any downy- 
cheeked clerk in your own bank we have to get rid 
of this time!” 

He suddenly began to shake with silent laughter. 

“ By the way, I got a letter from Liverpool, Eng¬ 
land, two weeks ago. It was from that bank clerk, 
Haviland. He’d just been discharged from that 
lime-juicer we shipped him on. He’s become quite 
a little man, to judge from his threats.” 

“ W-what did he threaten?” The words seemed 
to stick in the senator’s throat. 

“ You’re not afraid, are you, Hakaole? You know 
you always have your black brother to protect you. 

30 


SEA PLUNDER 


I guess,” judiciously, “ I’ll have to beat that cockney 
to a pulp when I ship him out for you the next 
time. Why, he’s threatening to back-track to this 
burg and settle the hash of both you and me! Think 
of it — me!” 

Senator Harbottle made a noise in his throat that 
was supposed to be a laugh. Then he began dabbing 
his sweating brow with his silk monogrammed hand¬ 
kerchief. He did not like these reminiscences. He 
studied Pilikea Pete under his dabbing hand, know¬ 
ing well the fellow was treading on ticklish ground. 

“ Say, I have it!” exclaimed Pete suddenly, his 
eyes going wide and showing their whites like a 
negro’s. “ Why not arrange a match between your 
daughter, Armida, and this writing guy? That 
would put the quietus on him for keeps. Nobody 
wants to shake up one’s own family skeletons and, 
besides, there’s the business of keeping in strong 
with papa-in-law who has his hands on the purse 
strings. After all, you know, Hakaole, these fellows 
only write about you and me in order to get money 
on which to live.” 

The bolt had fallen, which Senator Harbottle had 
dreaded. He realized that remembrance of the bank 
clerk, Haviland, who had had the audacity to make 
himself desirable in the eyes of his daughter and 
whom he had been therefore forced to ship out of 
the way, had put Pete in mind of this scheme. But 
he feared his black stepbrother might know more. 
He stiffened in his chair. 

“My daughter must marry some one in her own 
station in life,” he pronounced dogmatically. 

31 


SEA PLUNDER 


Pete laughed, but there was no ring to it. 

“ You mean, my dear brother, that a suitor, to be 
considered, must match every dollar of yours with 
one of his own and besides come from a little better 
stock. Well, you’ve got a job cut out for you there, 
Hakaole! It’s pretty hard when every kamaaina in 
the islands is in-the-know of your family history. 
But ‘ let the dead past bury its dead,’ ” he quoted. 
“ How old a man is this fellow, Sherwood?” 

“You’re old enough to be his father,” snapped 
Harbottle, pointedly reminding him thereby of his 
years. 

“ Well, he can’t be more than thirty then and no 
doubt he’s only twenty-five,” chuckled Pete, 
strangely enough appearing to enjoy himself. 

“ He’s twenty-seven.” 

“A regular blade! And good looking, you say? 
Well, now I gather it all, my hoomalimali (soft- 
speaking) brother! Besides being a muckraker, 
he’s also another suitor for the enchantress Armida’s 
hand!” 


32 


CHAPTER V 


More through knowledge of his brother’s char¬ 
acter than any matter of luck, Pete had hit upon the 
real, annoying source of the senator’s trouble. But 
it was part of Harbottle’s hypocritical nature to fear 
the truth, so he therefore attempted to deny the 
statement. 

“Nothing of the kind, Pete!” he lied. “Why, 
I don’t think this writing fool has once met my 
daughter. She moves in different and more exclusive 
circles and besides-” 

“ You do protest too much, my brother!” 

“ But come to think of it,” the senator hastened 
on, paying the interruption no heed, “ I’ve just got 
an idea how we might snare Sherwood.” 

“ Well, we’ll forget the lady then for her knight. 
Shoot!” 

“ Did you notice, Pete, when you went out, 
whether it was raining or not?” 

The crimp’s black face broke into a wide grin. 

“ I never went out. I finished that longshoreman 
in the front room.” 

“ Well, anyway,” said Senator Harbottle, “ when 
I was coming here, the clouds were banking up above 
the Punchbowl and it looked as if we were in for a 
good drenching. Now here’s what I suggest you do. 
Rouse up one of your underlings and have him hire 
a hack for the day. Then have him wait before the 
33 



SEA PLUNDER 


Subscriber office or quite near it, say at the corner 
of King and Alakea Streets.” 

He drew out his thin gold watch. 

“ Let’s see; it’s going on one o’clock now. 
Naturally, working as he does on a morning sheet, 
Sherwood goes on at one o’clock and quits about 
midnight. When he comes out of the Subscriber 
office to go on an assignment, he’ll be glad on account 
of the rain to charter a cab. Your cabby will know 
him by the derby hat. And in the downpour, with 
the panes streaming water, Sherwood won’t know 
just where he’s heading and you can have him 
brought right here.” 

“ Better than that,” suggested Pete, instantly cap¬ 
tured by the idea, “ the cabby, who will be Joao, 
can say something about knowing a place to get a 
good drink as Sherwood gets into the hack. As you 
yourself said, most news writers are drinking men, 
so he’ll probably leap to the bait. Then when he 
comes here, he’ll walk right in and nobody on his 
paper will know where he disappeared to.” 

“ And then it will be up to you, Pete, to have 
Captain Yardley entertain him with his whaling 
yarns, while you serve the strong stuff.” 

“ I’ve got a still cleverer notion,” said Pete quietly, 
his eyes half closed and leveled calculatingly at his 
brother opposite. “ Why not wait here yourself, 
Hakaole, and see the fun!” 

“ Me!” springing afoot. 

“ Certainly you! As a newspaperman, Sherwood 
will be suspicious the moment he pipes this place; 
but once he sees you and learns you’ve come here to 
34 


SEA PLUNDER 


get a drink, just as he has, his suspicions will be 

lulled. You can drink with him-” 

“ But I can’t!” fairly shrieked the other. “ I’m 
a staunch objector to liquor in any form. Why, I’m 
president of the local Prohibition League! ” 

Pete laughed uproariously. The paradox of the 
situation he had conceived tickled him immensely, 
but there was also the desire to drown the words 
in his brother’s excited voice. 

“ Oh, I thought that was only your public front!” 
he sneered, aware as he was of his brother’s hypo¬ 
critical character. “ Anyway, you’ll have to drop 
the sanctimonious role for a while. It’s the best 
method of getting your man, the only logical method. 
And you want him put out of the way, don’t 
you?” 

Senator Harbottle could only nod his head. 

“ Well, then you’ll have to swallow real liquor 
with this real drinker. No ginger ale; it wouldn’t 
fool him. But I’ll make it up to your poor stomach 
by showing you how I manage my business by means 
of that little trapdoor under your feet!” 

Senator Harbottle leaped to one side as if he had 
been standing on hot coals. His face paled, despite 
its swarth, as if suddenly dusted with powder. But 
it was not alone the knowledge of that trapdoor 
underfoot which frightened him; it was the idea of 
Pete’s to press him into aiding the shanghaiing 
scheme. He did not mind so much planning the way 
it should be done by others, but he did object, like all 
hypocrites, to actually taking a part and thereby 
showing his hand. Yet he wanted, dearly wanted, 
35 



SEA PLUNDER 


to get rid of this muckraker who was trying to wedge 
into his family by marrying his daughter. He sum¬ 
moned up all his courage, swallowed a couple of 
times, and stammered: 

“ All right, Pete,” capitulating. “ I’ll wait here as 
a decoy.” 

“ Well, that’s settled,” said Pete, turning to leave. 
“ Now I’d better be clearing out that barroom in 
preparation for our little drama. I’ll have Capt’n 
Yardley stir his stumps along the wharf and hail his 
ship. When a boat comes off, he can fetch aboard 
those drunken muckers outside. Then I’ll send Joao 
up to Portuguese Cunha’s to hire a cab and drive it 
up before the Subscriber office.” 

For long after Pete left him, Senator Weymore 
Harbottle sat alone in the cubby and pondered over 
that half-shut, calculating look in his brother’s eyes. 
Once he reached out and tried the knob in the door. 
It was as if he feared that door had been bolted 
on him from the other side. 

But the door swung open and he got a glimpse of 
the barroom, with the three men sleeping in the 
corner, their arms and heads on the table. Captain 
Yardley was gone, no doubt to rouse up a couple 
of his bullies to help bundle these fellows aboard his 
ship. Pete had taken Joao’s place and was quietly 
shining the glasses behind the bar. He caught the 
senator’s reflection in the mirror. 

“ What’s the matter, Hakaole?” he asked. “ You 
look pale under the gills. I’d better bring you in 
a drink. But no raw liquor,” as the other made 
pantomimic objection. “ That’ll come later,” with 
36 


SEA PLUNDER 


a peculiar smile. “ Just now a glass of ginger ale 
will help cool your nerves.” 

Harbottle studied the refreshment with a feeling 
of dread. But it certainly looked like ginger ale. 
He sipped it. It was ginger ale sure enough, and 
he could swear there was no foreign element mixed 
with it. To quench his parched, nervous throat, 
he got himself in hand and bravely downed the 
liquor. Then he sat, stiff as a rock, for moments 
after, as if fearful of some dire effect. The sweat 
stood out on his brow, but he could not bring him¬ 
self to mop it with his kerchief. 

He heard the creak of a door opening in the 
barroom and then the tramp of several pairs of 
boots. 

“ This is my fust mate, Mr. Carthew, Pete,” 
sounded the familiar, hoarse voice of Captain 
Yardley. 

“ Glad to know you, Mr. Carthew. We’ve got a 
little business for you there in the corner. If you 
handle those stiffs gently, you’ll have them all aboard 
and snug in their bunks without them opening an 
eye. You’ll find Evans, the other one, all trussed 
up like a fowl in the dark of that front room.” 

“ Leave the big Kanaka to me, men,” came the 
special request of Captain Yardley. “ I don’t want 
that Sammy boy manhandled. He’s a prize!” 

The tramp of boots set up again, only this time it 
was accompanied by a dull scraping sound as if a 
number of sacks of grain were being dragged across 
the floor. Then, with a resounding bang of a door, 
all was once.more quiet in Pilikea Pete’s. 

37 


SEA PLUNDER 


But not for long. An electric bell tinkled, then 
came the sound of doors opening and closing. 

“ In this way, sir, and meet Pilikea Pete! ” It 
was the voice of Joao, the bartender who had turned 
cabby. 

“ Howdy, suh,” rumbled Pete in his best negro 
manner. “ Somethin’ I cayn do fo’ yo’?” 

“ Have you any real gin?” 

Harbottle recognized this voice as that of his 
quarry, Neil Sherwood. 

“ We sho’ has!” Pete was laughing, still aping the 
negro. “Not Chinee gin nor sympa-tetic; but real 
honest-to-goodness stuff what was smuggled in bofe 
ways from Vancouver and Australia by some per- 
tic’lar friends of mine aboard them English steam¬ 
ers. But I’d advise yo’, suh, to step into that li’l 
room marked office thar.” 

“ How’s that?” 

“ Wal, they’se a lotta rowdies come in here off’n 
the wharves and ships and I knows a gen’min lak yo’ 
don’t wanta mix with that pore white trash nohow! 
Yo’ll find anudder gen’min in there,” he ended as 
the sound of footsteps drew near. 

The door opened and Harbottle saw his man 
standing in the entrance, the distinguishing derby 
cocked over one bright eye. 


38 


CHAPTER VI 


“Why, Senator Harbottle!” exclaimed the news¬ 
paperman, looking in amazement from the hapa 
haole to the empty glass upon the table before him. 
“ Who would expect to find you here, of all places!” 

The senator smiled wanly. 

“ It’s a good place to get a drink, Sherwood,” he 
explained sheepishly. “ But sit down,” pulling out 
a chair from the table, “and we’ll make it a sociable 
round. Pete,” to the huge black fellow standing 
quietly in the doorway, “ take the gentleman’s order, 
please, and give me my usual shot.” 

“Usual!” repeated Sherwood, as if unable to 
believe his ears. “ Why, Senator, I understood you 
to be a strenuous opponent to liquor in all forms! 
I’ve read some of your addresses. Aren’t you presi¬ 
dent of the Hawaiian Prohibition League, or am I 
mistaken?” 

Harbottle chuckled and winked. He was begin¬ 
ning to play up to his role. 

“ That’s only for public consumption,” he said. 

“Oh,” nodded the other, comprehending. “ You’re 
a regular politician. Like all the high priests of 
this world, you believe in one mode of conduct for 
the man in the street and another quite different for 
yourself and your own kind.” 

When Pete returned with the ordered concoctions, 
he found the two had progressed so well that Sher- 
39 


SEA PLUNDER 


wood was in the midst of relating how he had come 
to find the place. 

“ Glad I took the word of that cabby,” he was 
saying. “ I smelled adventure, the moment he said 
he knew of a good place. And when I saw this 
Leaning-Tower-of-Pisa place, I was dead certain of 
it. But I never expected to find it the haunt of 
the great minds of the territory,” he went on with 
mild sarcasm, “ nor the strongest prohibitionists — 
for the other fellow! I thought rather it looked like 
a sailors’ rum-joint, or even a shanghai place such 
as I’ve read about in books. 

“ Pete,” he added, looking up at the proprietor 
and little suspecting the intelligence behind that 
black frontal bone, “ will you kindly tell my cabby 
he may go? Here’s a five-dollar bill to cover the 
cost. You can bring back the change. I’ve been 
dying to meet Senator Harbottle out of business 
hours,” he explained, “ and this gives me too good 
a chance to miss.” 

Pete closed the door upon the two. He went out¬ 
side and, instructing Joao to drive the hack back to 
Portuguese Cunha’s, he gave the man the five-dollar 
bill to pay the rental. 

“This is a rich one, Joao!” he could not help 
remarking. “ Here’s a fellow paying for the expenses 
of his own shanghaiing!” 

As he returned to the barroom, he counted out 
some silver from his pocket into his hand. But 
before returning this to Sherwood as change, he stood 
outside the door, listening to what was passing 
within. He heard the name of Miss Armida men- 
40 


SEA PLUNDER 


tioned several times and, nodding to himself, he 
smiled. 

“ Here’s yo’ change, suh,” he said, swinging open 
the door. Pocketing the tip, he picked up the 
empty glasses. 

“ Better rush along another round, Pete,” ordered 
the newspaperman. “ I can’t spend as long a time 
here as I’d want to; I’m due, right now, on an 
assignment. What’ll you have, Senator?” 

“ The same as before,” said Harbottle, making a 
little moue of distaste behind his handkerchief. The 
stuff he had gulped was already beginning to gnaw 
at the lining of his unaccustomed stomach. 

Pete found Joao awaiting him in the barroom. 

“ Here’s your apron, Jo,” he said, undoing the 
garment. “ But I’ll attend myself to this order.” 

He went behind the bar and taking a folded 
paper from his pocket poured a little white powder 
from it into the bottom of each glass. Joao, as he 
tied on the apron, was watching him out of the 
corner of his eye and, although he should have been 
used to the method of the house, he seemed 
surprised. 

“ Just a little deadener, Joao,” Pete felt forced 
to explain. “ On account of having one drink 
already without any ill effects, they’ll be off their 
guard and swallow this without tasting the dope. 
. . . Why, what’s up?” 

“ But your brother! Do you mean-” 

“Yes,” Pete nodded, “I do! But just for the 
present I don’t want to put either of them to sleep 
too soon. This opiate will numb their limbs, but 
41 



SEA PLUNDER 


leave their heads clear as a trade-wind sky for a 
while. I’ve something to say to them in that while. 
After that, they can go to sleep and — well, you 
know!” with a shrug. 

He served the liquor and, closing the door after 
him, stood leaning against the jamb, eavesdropping. 

“ Well, Senator, here’s how!” he heard Sherwood 
say. And he grinned. 

Within the cubby, some moments later, the senator 
perceptibly slowed down in his conversation. He 
could hear his own words distinctly enough, but they 
did not seem to fit correctly into his brain, and some¬ 
thing was the matter with his tongue. It felt swollen. 
In a thick, clumsy, halting manner, it uttered just 
what he did not wish to say. 

“ W’a’s — that?” asked Sherwood with grave de¬ 
liberation, and in his own mind he could not help 
wondering at the slowness with which the words 
came. He frowned heavily as if to concentrate his 
thoughts and focus his eyes. He could have sworn 
the face of the senator was swarthy complexioned; 
yet it seemed to be changed to a much darker hue. 
It looked black as the negro, Pete’s. 

“ Mis’ Armida — not shused to liquor,” said the 
senator jerkily. With what appeared dignified slow¬ 
ness, he reached out one hand as if to draw his 
empty glass to him and examine its bottom. They 
both were astonished to see the glass reel off the 
table, to hear it crash upon the floor. Sherwood 
laughed sillily. 

The opiate was working upon them. With each, 
it was the same: their legs felt as heavy as lead 
42 


SEA PLUNDER 


below the knees and they could almost sense the 
numbness creeping up toward their brains. Their 
heads drooped forward, then snapped up . . . and 
they both were surprised to see Pete standing in 
the doorway, grinning. 

“ Just a little joke, gentlemen,” they could hear 
him saying, dimly, as from a great distance. “ I’ve 
doped your liquor. But there’s no use your attempt¬ 
ing to rise. You can’t get up, and besides, the 
attempt only stirs up the drug in your stomach, 
making it work faster. Sit still! I’ve something 
to say to the both of you before you drift into slum- 
berland! ” 

What Harbottle’s feelings were would be hard to 
explain; suffice it that fear was uppermost. At last 
he began to perceive the reason for that calculating 
look he had noticed in his brother’s half-closed 
eyes! 

With the news writer, on the other hand, there was 
only great wonder at this distinct enunciation and 
quiet cultured voice upon the part of the man he 
had mistaken for a common negro roustabout. It 
all seemed a weird, incongruous dream. 

“ Mr. Sherwood,” continued Pete, turning to the 
newspaperman, “ Senator Harbottle came to me 
today with a nice little scheme. It seems he’s afraid 
you’re going to write an article about his profiteer¬ 
ing on sugar during the war. But mostly what he’s 
afraid of is that you’ve got the nerve to try to garner 
some of his wealth by marrying his daughter. So 
he thought of getting rid of you by having me ship 
you aboard a whaler which happens to be lying 
43 


SEA PLUNDER 


out in the channel off Sand Island. But what he 
never took into consideration was that I, his own 
stepbrother, would think of putting him into the 
same boat with you. 

“ Yes, I’m his stepbrother for all my black skin, 
Mr. Sherwood. We both had the same mother, 
though different fathers. You’d have heard the story 
had you been allowed to remain here long enough. 
Only his father was a smarter type than mine. He 
robbed my mother of her lands, which had been 
allotted to her as an Hawaiian chiefess, and then 
he robbed me. Under the old law of primogeniture, 
as the elder son, I should have inherited the greater 
portion of the estate. Instead it was given to my 
stepbrother here, Weymore Harbottle. 

“ I have a son of my own, as you know, Hakaole,” 
he turned to the other. “And it’s of him I’m think¬ 
ing now. I’ve educated the boy in the States and 
I mean that he shall never come back here to the 
land of his father’s outrage. But I need money to 
keep him in the States and I need money to go there 
and live myself. I’m tired of this crimp business. 
So I’m going to make my big haul by shanghaiing 
you, as my last move, and then taking what I want 
out of your finances. 

“ I’m going to give you a taste of your own 
medicine, Hakaole; the same you doled out to that 
poor bank clerk and which you meant for Sherwood 
alone. I’m going to put the two of you, enemies, 
aboard the same ship and, as luck will have it, the 
ship being a whaler, you’re in for a long cruise to¬ 
gether. And I, the crimp who put you aboard, the 
44 


SEA PLUNDER 


black sheep of the family, will remain behind to 
extort money from the pretty daughter. 

“ My God!” he exclaimed. “ There’s a situation 
for you, Sherwood. A real story if you ever get to 
write it! But now, gentlemen, I’ll move this table 
over against the wall and you can finish your snooze 
aboard your future home, the good spouter, Bal- 
lenas!” 

He shoved the table aside with the words; but 
still the two men held onto it with their leadlike 
hands and, once it had come to a stop against the 
wall, their heads dropped upon it heavily. He 
stamped several times upon the flooring and a trap¬ 
door fell away beneath his feet. 

Sherwood’s head jerked up. He got a glimpse of 
oily water and of a Whitehall boat below. He knew 
he was dreaming for a surety then, because the cabby 
who had driven him to Pilikea Pete’s was manning 
the oars! He struck his knee against one edge of 
the trap in shooting through and for a while knew 
nothing but dull pain. 

The next thing he noticed, Senator Harbottle was 
sleeping in the bottom of the bobber, breathing sten- 
toriously, and Pete had taken one of the oars from 
his cabby. They seemed to be lost in a darksome 
maze of straight trees (the piling under the wharf). 
Then they were out on the rain-splattered water with 
the quarantine wharf on Sand Island opening mistily 
ahead and the wet green and white of the Punchbowl 
dropping behind. 

The rain or else some change in their motion must 
have brought him to dim consciousness again. They 
45 


SEA PLUNDER 


were overhauling a low-lying, blunt, slovenly looking 
ship with masts straight as broomsticks, cranes and 
boats all around its sides and a bowsprit in front 
that pointed sharply into the air like a turned-up 
nose. 

It did not seem to be at all like a ship to have a 
square erection of red bricks in the center of the 
deck; yet he remembered later slumping against the 
brickwork and watching the negroid Pete wrangling 
over some money matter with Captain Yardley of 
the unforgettable scar. Then he seemed to be skid¬ 
ding along the greasy deck, fetching up above a 
dark gaping hole, dropping down, down. . . .! 


46 


CHAPTER VII 


Neil Sherwood, special writer, dreamed he was 
being dragged breathlessly through the water by a 
line made fast to a whale. On he flew, sometimes 
smothered under a wave, now leaping from crest to 
crest. Then suddenly the raging monster breached 
— halted and seemed to take wing. Up, up went the 
vast shining body until it hung suspended in the sky, 
apparently motionless, then flopped with tremendous 
sound and upheaval of water back into the sea. And 
then out of the spray and foam hiding it rose a 
gigantic negro who looked like Senator Weymore 
Harbottle! . . . 

Sherwood awoke in a thick, heaving darkness, his 
limbs bathed in cold perspiration. There was a 
clatter as of heavy boots over his head, a dull, hol¬ 
low hammering, and then ringing through the air 
came a long-drawn call: 

“ A-a-11 hands on deck! Tumble up lively there! 
No skulking, you greenies!” 

There followed groans and curses from all about 
him. Sherwood turned over to find himself lying 
in a bunk in a shadowy den that seemed to lift and 
fall with squeamish irregularity. An ancient teapot 
lamp swung from a beam, its flame burning blue in 
the foulness of the air. Opposite him were other 
bunks in tiers of two, and out of several of them 
men were crawling and stretching themselves and 
47 


SEA PLUNDER 


shivering. A dark shadow seemed to leap in among 
them and he saw a man, with a long wooden bar 
in his hand, springing down the ladder that led 
through a square-lighted hole in the ceiling. 

“ What’s all this racket!” the fellow cried, wield¬ 
ing the bar like a drum major. “ Do you rookies 
think you’re still aboard land? Bundle out of it 
and show a leg!” 

He went among them, shoving his handspike into 
the bunks, yanking them to their feet and spinning 
them toward the ladder. To one waspish little fellow 
who whined about his “ old woman,” he delivered a 
kick with his boot that sent the man flying up the 
rungs, two at a time. 

“ Come on, Sammy!” he said to another, a huge, 
finely built Kanaka. “ You’re a seaman and you 
know better’n this. There ain’t no use sodjerin’; 
you’re booked aboard this sailor’s horror of a 
spouter! Bear-a-hand on deck. The Old Man’s 
layin’ out the watches and jest spilin’ for a fight!” 

Sherwood lifted his legs over the side of the bunk 
and sat up. He struck his head against the bottom 
of the bunk above and slumped back against the 
bulkhead with a sudden dizziness that whirled his 
brains and shot black motes before his eyes. 

When he could see again, he noticed the officer 
(who proved to be Mr. Petrie, the fourth mate) 
probing into a dark lower bunk opposite. A series 
of groans rose, and then the mate’s hand came forth 
dragging Weymore Harbottle by the collar of his 
pongee coat. The senator’s swarthy face was oddly 
yellowish and sick-looking in the lamplight. 

48 


SEA PLUNDER 


“What’s this?” exclaimed Petrie, noting the soft 
pongee. “ Oh, lordy, a dancin’ marster! Git above 
there, me fine dude —” with a fling of his hand that 
sent Harbottle spinning against the ladder —“ and 
we’ll make a he-man of you!” 

Sherwood managed to get afoot and stumble up 
the ladder after Harbottle. Out on deck, it was 
coming twilight and the great spread of canvas over¬ 
head looked ghostly white in the afterglow. There 
was nothing in sight but dark blue sea, no land nor 
the glimmering lights of land. The noise of the 
ship’s passage through the water was a loud sound, 
and the banging of the bows against the waves gave 
him an uncomfortable sensation in the region of 
his stomach. He followed Harbottle to the rail and 
clung there, weak and dizzy, in the space between 
two clumsy-looking cranes, from each of which hung 
and creaked a whaleboat. 

Captain Yardley had taken no chances on the 
swimming ability of the new members of his crew. 
After taking on wood and water at Honolulu that 
nooning, not to mention the cargo from Pilikea 
Pete’s, he had weighed anchor and dropped the 
Island of Oahu behind. But he had not roused the 
shanghaied men until all sails were sheeted home and 
his old barky was shouldering her way sou’-sou’-west. 

“ Lay aft, you greenies! ” came now in his whiskey- 
hoarsened bellow and, herded by the fourth mate 
who had followed them on deck, the six dazed and 
squeamish victims of Pilikea Pete reeled past the 
square erection of brickwork in the waist (which 
Sherwood had thought part of a dream), past the 
49 


SEA PLUNDER 


galley and up to the cabin skylight, which alone 
broke the afterdeck, there being no poop. 

The crew were clustered forward of the skylight, 
and, ten feet abaft it, his back against the taffrail, 
stood Captain Ham Yardley, facing them. He waited 
until the newcomers had joined the crew of some 
twenty-odd men, which included the four harpooners 
or boat-steerers, the carpenter, cooper, steward and 
cross-eyed cockney cook in a greasy apron of sack¬ 
ing. Then he asked: 

“ All here, Mr. Petrie?” 

“Aye, aye, sir!” nodded the fourth mate. 

“ Well, now then, Mr. Carthew,” turning to a tall, 
slab-sided man who was chewing the ends of his 
black moustache to leeward of the skylight — 
“you kin take fust pick of these individools and 
Mr. Moseby kin have second choice. The rest of 
you men know your watches, so stand aside and give 
gangway so’s the chief mate kin get a good glint at 
these greenies. Of coz,” he added, his gimlet eyes 
twinkling between their pudgy lids as he noted the 
head and shoulders of the Kanaka above the mass 
of huddled newcomers, “ I know who you’ll pick 
fust!” 

“ Quite right, sir,” nodded Carthew, blowing the 
ends of his moustache from his mouth. “ I’ll take 
the Kanaka, sir. What’s your name, Jack?” to the 
Polynesian. 

“ Sam, sir,” replied the son of the sun. 

“ Wal, Samson,” with a grin at his own witticism, 
“ step over here. You’re in my watch, the port 
watch. Of course you’ve been to sea afore?” 

50 


SEA PLUNDER 


The handsome fellow nodded. 

“ I just came up from the Marshalls, sir, on a copra 
schooner, the Korra-Marok or Dark Cloud,” 

“Wal, that’s good; an A. B., I’ll bet! You’ll 
pull an oar in the third mate’s boat, Samson, Mr. 
Portalegre’s boat.” 

“ I’ll take this husky moose,” spoke up Moseby, 
the second mate, selecting one of the stevedores, 
though not without a glance of regret toward the 
huge Kanaka. 

“ And I’ll take you there, li’l Curly Locks!” said 
Mr. Carthew, indicating the bareheaded newspaper¬ 
man. 

The whole business reminded Sherwood of his 
school days when the boys used to choose sides for 
baseball. He did not fail to realize, at that, its more 
serious aspect. But he knew it was worse than 
useless to remonstrate or object. They were out to 
sea, the afterguard were in despotic command, and 
there was nothing to do but accept the situation as 
inevitable. Later perhaps, at some port of call, he 
might find an opportunity to desert. 

Moseby, meanwhile, had picked another steve¬ 
dore for his watch and to man the tub oar in Mr. 
Petrie’s boat. It appeared that the older hands 
had been moved up into the crafts of the first and 
second mates, and the greenies were to occupy the 
thwarts left vacant in the commands of the under 
officers. Evans, the little Welshman, and Senator 
Harbottle alone remained for the chief mate to choose 
between. 

“ I’d advise you to take that fancy geezer there, 

51 


SEA PLUNDER 


Mr. Carthew,” broke forth the captain, indicating 
Harbottle. “ You kin make a man of him, if any¬ 
one kin!” 

“ But I object,” said the senator, stumbling out 
from the crowd. “ I’ve been shanghaied aboard this 
ship and youVe no right, Captain Yardley, to keep 
me here against my will!” 

“ That so?” said the old man, striding forward, the 
scar on his face wrinkling with a nasty grin. “ Well, 
suppose I tell you to git to ’ell off my spouter, where 
will you go?” 

A chuckle went up from the men at this sally and 
all but one drew a little away from the audacious 
Harbottle, as if fearful of consequences and only 
too eager to give the skipper room for action. The 
exceptional one was Neil Sherwood. Although the 
senator had been his enemy ashore, they were both 
in the same canoe now and he was willing to forget 
past enmities, particularly in the urgency of the 
moment. He reached out and jerked Harbottle by 
the tail of his wrinkled, soiled pongee coat. 

But in his ignorance of the ways of the sea, the 
senator gave no heed to the plucking hand nor even 
to the ominous withdrawal about him. 

“ You don’t know who I am, Captain,” he per¬ 
sisted. “ I-” 

“ No?” leered the skipper, shoving his ruddy face 
close to the sickly yellowish one of the senator, his 
hands quietly knotting at his sides. “ Well, let me 
tell you somethin’, my fine dandy: I do know you 
ain’t worth half as much to me as any of these other 
greenies! They’ve all come aboard drunk, the same 
52 



SEA PLUNDER 


as you, on’y they don’t call it shanghaied — that 
ain’t no polite word to use aboard ship, Fauntleroy. 
Don’t say it ag’in, savvy? And now git over there 
with the port watch and lay yourself out to l’arn a 
man’s work. Right now, you ain’t worth the powder 
to blow you to hell! ” 

But Harbottle did not move in the indicated di¬ 
rection. Finding himself thus frustrated and 
scorned, he became frantic. 

“Put back, Captain!” he cried. “ Put back and 
I’ll pay you any amount of money to land me in 
Hono-” 

The long right arm of the skipper fanged out and 
knocked him down with one blow of the bulging fist. 
Then, with a kick that sent him sliding across the 
oily boards to the feet of the mate, Yardley sang 
out: 

“ There he is for you, Mr. Carthew! He’s bin 
drinkin’ some queer okolehou which must ’a’ turned 
his pore head! ”— with a grin. “ Pay me any 
amount of money, will he? Well, you’ll have to 
l’arn him we have no fancy millyunars aboard this 
grease-tank! Orders is orders, and no pipin’ up! ” 

Mr. Carthew immediately proceeded to instill the 
above information. It was a ripe opportunity, Har¬ 
bottle sprawling there at his feet, groaning. In that 
tender part of the anatomy where the captain had 
first implanted his boot, Carthew kicked the senator, 
then got him by the collar and the slack of his pongee 
trousers and, lifting him roughly to his feet, raced 
him forward along the darkening deck and chucked 
him bodily down the fo’c’s’le scuttle. 

53 



SEA PLUNDER 


Grinning widely, Captain Yardley watched his 
henchman until Carthew turned aft, wiping his hands 
on the sides of his dungarees. Then, with an anxious 
glance to windward, the skipper swung about on the 
crew and began pacing athwart ship before them. 

“ Now, men,” he began, “ we’re on the second lap 
of our long cruise. Those of you who’ve bin with 
me the past number of months know that if things 
are done smart and Bristol-style, I’m a fairly com¬ 
fortable sort to git along with. But for the sake 
of the new hands, I jest want to ree-mark that if 
there’s any sodjerin’ gonna be done aboard this 
spouter, I’ll make it a floatin’ hell! I’m some little 
devil for my draft, as the old hands kin tell you, and 
I lay to havin’ orders obeyed with a will and no 
grumblin’! ” 

He cast his eye again to windward. 

“ That’s all,” he hastened to close his speech. 
“ Now git for-rd the starboard watch and fit out your 
three greenies from the slop-chest. Mr. Carthew, 
have the port guard trim the yards. The wind’s 
gitting ahead and from them nimbus clouds bankin’ 
up to win’ard, it looks like rain, if not a real blow.” 


54 


CHAPTER VIII 


Sherwood felt helpless at this sudden calling 
into action of his watch. Orders were so loudly and 
unintelligibly bellowed and so many strange lines 
and blocks and stranger actions were brought into 
play that he was left completely bewildered. What 
little knowledge he had of a sailing vessel stood him 
in poor stead. In fact, it only added to his feeling 
of discomfiture, making him realize all the more 
plainly how useless and pitiable a landsman he really 
was. 

Yet fearing to come up against a mate’s fist, as 
he had witnessed in the case of Harbottle, he was 
anxious to show willingness. He noted that the 
Kanaka, Sam, alone of the shanghaied men of his 
watch, seemed to have any knowledge of what to do. 
Therefore he followed Sam about like an imitative 
monkey and where only one hand was needed on a 
rope or a brace, he tailed out and boused in with 
eagerness. 

“ You’re a good man,” said Sam, noting this at 
last and smiling so that his white teeth showed in 
the suddenly thickening gloom. “ You’re pretty sick, 
but number one man just the same. Stick close to 
me, Number One, and you’ll do.” 

The ship was close-hauled and making heavy way 
of it, laying over — as it seemed to Sherwood — 
almost on her beam-ends. The wind was rapidly 
55 


SEA PLUNDER 


mounting, whistling through the rigging, and the 
great sails were ballooning out, then slatting against 
the masts with a report like thunder. The head seas 
were bludgeoning the ship’s blunt bows with sledge¬ 
hammer blows and spray was flying like hail, drench¬ 
ing everything. . Sherwood felt thankful for the 
irregular grooves in the slippery deck, cut there 
(although he little realized it) by the chimes of the 
great oil casks. 

The next bellow from the mate, however, robbed 
him of all feeling of gratefulness. 

“All hands, ahoy!” shouted Mr. Carthew, and 
Portalegre, the third mate, took up the cry forward. 
“Tumble up there and take in sail! Let go them 
tops’l halyards!” 

Sherwood found himself ordered to lay aloft and 
reef the fore topsails. How he managed to clamber 
up, he never afterward could tell. But he stretched 
out on a yard, clinging on with all his tatters of 
strength. For all the good he did, he felt he might 
just as well have remained on the canted deck. The 
rain began falling like slugs of lead, the wind chilled 
his ears and hands, loose ropes whipped about, blocks 
creaked, and the mates roared and the sailors called 
out in hoarse and eery strains. 

“ Hold on there, Number One!” came an encourag¬ 
ing cry, and he saw the gigantic Sam working along 
the footrope toward him through the dark. He 
turned sick again, at the sight, but managed to clap 
on while Sam completed his task. 

Soon all was snug aloft and they were ordered 
alow and the starboard watch sent forward. But 
56 


SEA PLUNDER 


there was work yet remaining to be done on the deck. 
Mr. Carthew was the sort of mate who believed in 
keeping them busy, braces were tightened and ropes 
coiled and belayed. So soon it surprised Sherwood, 
eight bells sounded midnight and the starboard watch 
took the deck and the port guard turned in. 

When he got below, Sherwood experienced in a 
heap the full measure of discomfort of a sailor’s life. 
Not only was the flame of the teapot lamp burning 
rainbow hues in the foul air caused by the battened 
hatch above and the seasick rookies below, but his 
bunk was mustily damp from some one in the other 
watch having sat upon it when he had returned to 
the fo’c’s’le after taking in sail. Yet he was not so 
badly off as Harbottle, who, sick to the stomach and 
stiff with hurts, was groaning and tossing and retch¬ 
ing in the bunk opposite. 

For three days the wind blew stiffly with only 
hourly lulls. But the lulls were worse than the gale, 
if that were possible, because at these times they 
were bundled out on deck, whether on watch or off, 
and sent aloft to make sail. On account of the crow’s 
nests for sighting whales on the stump royal mast¬ 
heads of the fore and main, the Ballenas carried no 
skysail yards and no canvas higher than royals; yet 
was there work a-plenty for all hands. 

They had no sooner turned in again, perhaps, 
than the wind, veering and hauling round the com¬ 
pass, squalled up from a new quarter and they had 
to furl the royals and topgallants, take in jibs and 
spanker, close-reef the topsails, haul up the courses, 
set the fore-topmast staysail and bring the blubber- 
57 


SEA PLUNDER 


boat up to her former tack with weather braces 
boused in a trifle to ease her. 

There was barely leisure to eat, let alone sleep. 
But by the time the gale blew itself out, Harbottle 
was able to get around on his pins and Sherwood, 
in this original school of intensive training, had 
learned to be of service on a yard. In fact, when the 
senator was first ordered aloft and hung there weak, 
scared and dizzy, Sherwood was able to do for him 
what the good-natured Sam had done for him. He 
knotted Harbottle’s reefpoint and then, thinking 
nothing of the act, raised with Sam and the others 
the cry “ Haul out to leeward! ” Sliding down a 
backstay then, he tailed out at the topsail halyards. 

When he got below, however, he found Harbottle 
waiting for him at the foot of the fo’c’s’le ladder, 
apparently quite overcome and at a loss to under¬ 
stand his motivation. 

“ That was a good turn you did me, Sherwood,” 
he began hesitantly as if, with the tortuous working 
of his hypocritical mind, he feared lest the news¬ 
paperman might be thinking of exacting something 
in return payment. 

“ Oh, it was nothing at all!” snapped Sherwood 
sensing this and, in his desire to reassure the other, 
perfectly willing to minimize his own act. “ I knew 
how you felt. I was the same way, weak and dizzy, 
the first day out. I only rendered the same service 
to you that Sam had given me under similar cir¬ 
cumstances.” 

“ That big Kanaka, you mean?” 

Sherwood looked at him in frank surprise. The 
58 


SEA PLUNDER 


note of snobbery in his voice was, to say the least, 
unbecoming in one who was himself hapa haole! 

11 Yes, the handsome Polynesian,” with significant 
emphasis, “ my best friend aboard!” 

“ Did he call you that, his friend?” looking 
startled. 

Sherwood shook his head. 

“No; why should he? He has no reason to! I 
haven’t done a thing for him. It’s he who has helped 
me out on every occasion. But I’ll say he’s a friend, 
a friend in need!” 

“Oh, that’s different!” breathed the senator, dis- 
missingly. But before Sherwood, in growing resent¬ 
ment, could ask him why it should be, he returned 
to his main theme. He had perceived that instead of 
making up to the news writer as he wished to, his 
attitude was only further estranging them. 

“ About your kindness,” he reopened. “ You 
know, I never expected it nor-” 

“Why not?” tersely, thinking he had explained 
it selfishly enough and flinching a bit from this ful¬ 
some gratitude. 

“ Well, you see, I was mainly instrumental in 
getting you shipped aboard here and I naturally 
thought you might hold it in for me — make things 
nasty, you know.” 

Sherwood felt inclined to retort that he should 
not judge every one by himself. But instead he 
pooh-poohed the idea. 

“ Of course, you got me shipped out,” he admitted, 
“ but then you got shipped yourself in the bargain 
and you never expected that! But your being 
59 


SEA PLUNDER 


shanghaied along with me entirely changed the face 
of things. I’m taking it all now as a sort of sorry 
joke, quite a comedy of errors! You know the old 
Moorish proverb?” smiling dryly with the inspira¬ 
tion. 

Harbottle confessed ignorance, so continuing to 
smile, Sherwood quoted: 

“ c He who digs a pit for his brother, will himself 
fall into it!’ And that’s what happened to you, 
Senator, so I’m willing to think it’s punishment 
enough and let it go at that!” 

“ Do you mean that, Sherwood?” 

“ My hand on it!” 


60 


CHAPTER IX 


Before Harbottle realized what was happening, 
they were shaking hands. Then the full extent of 
Sherwood's magnamity hit him like a blow and, so 
far did it surpass his own warped capabilities for 
generosity, that he began to mistrust appearances, to 
feel uneasy. 

“Tell me!” he begged, “you’re sure you don’t 
hold it in for me, now, for spoiling your work, 

blanketing your fortune-hun-1 mean, love 

match?” 

Sherwood could not help it, but burst out laughing 
in his anxious, screwed-up face. 

“ If you only knew, Senator!” he exclaimed, a bit 
tauntingly. “ But I’ve tried to explain that my 
interest in Miss Armida was purely a matter of 
acquaintance, that if it approached friendship, it was 
of the most Platonic, impersonal nature! Yet you 
will persist that I’m head over heels in love! Well, 
there’s an old saw to the effect that a daughter is 
always the apple of her father’s eye, so I can’t blame 
you much for thinking that way. But some day, 
I promise you, I’ll explain the real reason. But not 
now!” as Harbottle made to interject a question. 
“ I’m a sure-thing gambler, Weymore Harbottle. 
When I have all the affidavits and am absolutely 
sure of my hand, I’ll show you. But not till then, 
Senator, not till then!” 


61 



SEA PLUNDER 


“ Call me Harbottle, please!” warned the other, a 
touch of asperity in his tone. It rankled him that 
Sherwood had closed up without divulging anything 
definite. “ Better drop the title, Sherwood. It’s no 
use aboard this scow. Another thing, it sounds like 
a joke and it may lead to the hands guying me 
and getting me plumb in bad! ” 

“ Only one of the many errors in the comedy!” 
commented Sherwood grimly. 

“ Seems more like a tragedy to me! ” glumly. 

“ Oh, I don’t know!” smiled the newspaperman. 
“ The trouble with you, Harbottle, is that you lack 
a sense of humor, of the ridiculous. Now with 


“ Yes. What about your work, those muckraking 
articles?” 

“ Oh, I’ve done worse and waited longer to get 
the true facts on a case! Take it from me, Har¬ 
bottle, I don’t mind this sea experience a little bit! 
In fact, I’m seriously considering acting on Pilikea 
Pete’s advice; writing a story about it, you know, 
say under the title, ‘ Freighted with Errors.’ 

“ But to tell the truth,” he added more soberly, 
“ for the longest time I thought Pete was only the 
bugbear of some dream, the result of a bad stomach 
and too much moonshine. Now that I know he 
really exists and serves a purpose in this world, I’m 
not so regretful of the shanghaiing. It has netted 
me an angle on my assignment I never otherwise 
would have suspected; it explains a lot of things. 
By the bye, Weymore,” familiarly, “ what do you 
think your dear brother Pete will do now?” 

62 



SEA PLUNDER 


“Stepbrother, Neil!” almost pleaded the hapa 
haole. “ But how should I know!” tartly, an even 
sharper timbre of disdain shaking his voice than had 
appeared when speaking of the handsome Sam. 
“ I’ve been so sick and sore, these last two days, I 
haven’t had a chance to think of anything or any¬ 
body but myself!” 

“Quite like you!” thought Sherwood to himself. 
He perceived that the subject was extremely dis¬ 
tasteful to Harbottle, that he was only seeking an 
opportunity to hedge it. But he knew, on the other 
hand, the senator labored under the delusion that 
he should show his gratitude by meeting him half¬ 
way, so he persisted: 

“ Don’t you think Pete will fake a story to cover 
his black hand in the shanghaiing and then try to 
play the friend to Miss Armida with imagined details 
of the shipment and explicit arrangements for the 
rescue? Knowing shipping as he does, he could 
make quite a piece of change out of merely handling 
the chartering of a rescue ship and no one would be 
any the wiser, thinking he was acting as a long 
undiscovered friend!” 

But Harbottle kept shaking his head with each 
word. 

“ Not him!” he retorted. “ And why should he? 
It’s his idea that my worthy father swindled him out 
of his inheritance and I know he’s been angling to 
get rid of me for years past. But so have I, for that 
matter!” with suddenly tightened lips. 

“ You get rid of him?” repeated Sherwood in 
amazement. 


63 


SEA PLUNDER 


Harbottle nodded reluctantly. 

“ A peculiar slant on my character for your 
articles!” he was forced to confess. “ But it’s true, 
nevertheless. Only he’s won! With me out of the 
way like this and my poor child alone and probably 
frantic with worry, it’s all plain sailing for his black¬ 
mail -” 

“ Blackmail?” 

“ Don’t you remember his threat? Oh, I know 
just what he’ll do! He’ll go to my daughter, know¬ 
ing she is all unstrung and utterly unprepared for 
his revelations!” 

“ But surely,” objected Sherwood, “ she’ll realize 
by this time that something or somebody has 
snatched you from your former world.” 

“ Of course, but that’s not the revelations I have 
in mind. It’s what Pete knows, and can show posi¬ 
tive proof of, and she is completely unaware of-” 

“ You mean-” 

“ The closeness of his blood relationship to us!” 

“ Good Lord, man! She doesn’t know that! That 
he’s your stepbrother?” Even in his astonishment, 
Sherwood was careful to use the compound word 
which precisely described the degree of consan¬ 
guinity. 

Harbottle hung his head. 

“ That’s what’s troubling me most!” he admitted 
in a low tone. “ You know, the last ones to learn 
truths in this world are those most vitally concerned! 
Well, that’s the way it stands with Armida. She 
thinks Pete is only a poor, distant and somehow 
unaccountable nigger-in-the-woodpile; perhaps no 
64 





SEA PLUNDER 


more than an old feudal retainer of her grandmother, 
who was, you recall, an Hawaiian chiefess! ” 

“ And the shock of Pete’s disclosures-” 

“ Will prove all that’s necessary to bring her to her 
knees and give him the whip hand of her in her 
present distraught state! Then he can extort money 
from her in any amount he sees fit to name and at 
such times as he feels so disposed. Oh, how I wish 
I had told her years ago!” 

He lifted his sharp features and gazed intently 
into the face of the other. 

“ But come to look at you, Sherwood,” in sad 
bewilderment, “ you don’t seem so terribly put out 
about my poor child!” 

The young fellow returned his gaze unflinchingly. 

“ No more than ordinary,” he pointed out, “ and 
only in so far as she is a woman embroiled in an 
unfair situation over which she has no control and 
in the beginnings of which she certainly had no 
share! But this business,” he added, with unex¬ 
pected show of indignation, “ this business of the 
sins of the fathers being visited upon their children 
always does rile me!” 

“ Yet I thought-” 

“ Oh, I know what you thought and I’ve tried 
several times to explain away that opinion of our 
intimacy. Indeed, when Pete divulged to me in his 
private office that you knew the basic reason for my 
being in the islands, I felt morally certain you 
would put two and two together and immediately 
detect the cause and bond of our friendship.” 

“ Was it in pursuit of your work, this muckrak- 
65 




SEA PLUNDER 


ing?” probed Harbottle, leaping quickly and with 
inordinate eagerness to the attack. “ Were you only 
cultivating Armida to get a line on me and my 

activities, business and-” 

Sherwood held up his hand. 

“ Maybe, Senator, maybe!” with a chuckle, his 
mood entirely changed. “ ‘ But let your conscience 
be your guide!’ ” mouthing the platitude with arch 
purpose. “ If you had nothing to conceal beyond 
this relationship to Pete, I could find out nothing 
scandalous from your daughter. Certainly she knows 
very little of your business affairs!” 

“ I wonder-” began Harbottle when, almost 

unconsciously, his lips compressed to a thin line, 
clipping short what he might have said. He studied 
Sherwood with what seemed perplexity, eagerness 
and grave misgiving, all in one. 

“Say!” he burst out suddenly, as though deter¬ 
mined to risk a disclosure in order to force an answer 
and settle, for a surety, some doubt lurking in his 
own mind. “ Had your interest in Armida any foun¬ 
dation in the disappearance, some time ago, of a 
short and chunky blond Englishman named Havi- 

land, Bayard Haviland, a bank clerk who-” 

“Enough!” from Sherwood, again imitating a 
traffic officer by lifting his hand. “ I told you, Har¬ 
bottle, I’m a sure-thing gambler and it follows I’m 
not going to commit myself one way or the other. 
I’ve heard of the man, yes; but I’m not working 
at my trade. I’m a whaler now and I don’t intend 
pursuing my former profession until I’m it again! 
Beyond studying your character under stress — an 
66 





SEA PLUNDER 

excusable and perfectly permissible thing to do, 
you’ll allow, Senator — I’m neither going to ferret 
for info, nor allow myself to be taken off my guard. 
What say you? Shall we call it quits, Weymore, 
and no more business talks for the rest of the 
cruise?” 

“ There’s my hand on it, Neil!” agreed Harbottle, 
chagrined but willing just the same to compromise. 

They were gripping hands for the second time 
that evening when Sam, in coming down the ladder 
from some extra duty which had delayed him on 
deck, clapped a big paw on the newspaperman’s 
shoulder. 

“ He’s a good man, She’wood; got a lotta grit, 
Number One man!” he grinned. 

Sherwood noticed the peculiar expression which 
leaped to Harbottle’s eyes at the Kanaka’s easy 
familiarity. He thought it a recrudescence of that 
old snobbishness, but he said nothing, only smiled at 
the huge Polynesian and made for his bunk. There 
was little chance for further conversation, even had 
he entertained the wish to pursue it, for he had no 
more than crawled in, fully clothed, than they were 
once again summoned to make sail in the fickle 
night. 


67 


CHAPTER X 


The midwatch of the third night found the sea 
and wind gone down and the stars out brilliantly. 
Sherwood turned in, at four that morning, prepared 
to enjoy the first unbroken stretch of sleep he had 
been allowed since coming aboard the Ballenas. 

Alas for his hopes! Hardly had he been asleep 
two hours than he was startled wide-eyed awake by 
a long, mournful and yet thrilling cry: 

“ Bl-o-o-w!” 

Then came the growl of Moseby, the second mate: 

“ Foremast head there! Where away?” 

“ Bl-o-o-w, sir, right in the eye of the risin’ sun! 
A pod of cows and a coupla bulls, sir, by the looks 
of ’em!” 

Followed throaty commands from the mate, a 
trampling of boots, an undertone of bated voices 
and all the accompaniments of sudden excitement 
and activity. Then the voice of Petrie, the fourth 
mate, hallooed down the fo’c’s’le hatch. 

“ You hear below there? All hands, ahoy! Wipe 
out them sleepers from y’r eyes and show a leg! No 
sodgerin’ now; tumble up lively. There’s sparm 
white-waterin’! ” 

Harbottle sat up on the edge of his bunk, neck 
and back bent in the confined space and swarthy 
face twitching. 

“ Does that mean we have to go out in those small 
68 


SEA PLUNDER 


boats ?” he asked of Sherwood, who was pulling on 
his boots opposite. 

“ Nothing less! But buck up, old man, and don’t 
go batchy, as these whalers call it!” He stamped 
afoot. “ Come on!” encouragingly. 

He followed his friend Sam up the ladder and 
Harbottle made haste to follow him. Out on deck, 
the early morning air seemed charged with restrained 
excitement and what orders were passed came 
smartly without the usual bellow. Dogging the 
footsteps of the knowing Kanaka, they found their 
boat, Mr. Portalegre’s boat, hanging to the crane on 
the port side, aft. 

Looking into the whaleboat, Sherwood saw it was 
cluttered with paraphernalia. There was a center- 
board or sliding keel drawn up into a case standing 
in the middle, five oars varying in length from nine 
to sixteen feet, one long steering sweep of fully 
twenty feet, a mast and two sails, sprit rig, two 
tubs, one smaller than the other, containing alto¬ 
gether some eighteen hundred feet of manila line, 
a keg of drinking water, another, long and narrow, 
filled with ship’s biscuits, a lantern with candles and 
matches inside, a bucket for bailing, a small spade 
and flag, a bomb gun and ammunition, two long 
boarding knives and as many axes. 

Hanging over the stern was a rudder, not shipped 
in the gudgeons. In the starboard bow, fitted one 
above the other, were three harpoons or “ irons ” 
and opposite them, in the port bow and fitted like¬ 
wise, were three lances. 

Meanwhile, the Ballenas was hauling up to wind- 
69 


SEA PLUNDER 


ward of the school of whales and the captain was in 
the main crow’s nest, studying them through his 
glasses. As the ship hove to, having gained a good 
weather gauge, the Old Man called down: 

“ Dead to east’ard, Mr. Carthew, a mess of cows 
and two bulls. You, thar, Mr. Portalegre, you give 
way to Fourth Mate Petrie. I ain’t forgot how you 
stove in your whaleboat that larst time on the Japan 
grounds. You’ll let Mr. Petrie go in afore you and 
stand by, in his place, to lend a hand where needed. 
Now, Mr. Carthew, lower away when you’re ready!” 

The first mate sang out the word, and, before 
Portalegre could finish cursing into the beard which 
covered the lower half of his face, down went the 
four boats into the water. Sherwood, still following 
the guidance of Sam, leaped down into his particu¬ 
lar craft and grabbed a ’steen-foot oar and made ado 
at shoving off. Then, with Harbottle at the tub 
oar abaft him and the broad back of Sam pulling 
stroke ahead, he lifted and heaved at his heavy sweep 
until the mate ordered: 

“ Way enough! Boat your oars and stand by to 
step!” 

Up went the mast and sails. 

“Tend the clew of that mains’l there, Samson!” 
commanded Mr. Portalegre sourly. “ And don’t 
belay that sheet, no matter what happens, unless you 
want me to bash in your noodle! You thar, Millyun 
Dollars!” to Harbottle, “you’ve been lyin’ pretty 
low during that gale and mebbe you was sick, but 
the swash is all outer you now and you’re up against 
a man’s job. Don’t look ahead and git skeered and 
70 


SEA PLUNDER 


go batchy, or you’ll die so suddint you won’t know 
what struck you, a whale or this tiller!” 

Sherwood, like Harbottle, had been twisting his 
neck to look at the other boats. He had noted that, 
taking precedent over them, these boats were skip¬ 
ping ahead and spreading apart, a harpooner in the 
bow of each, his iron ready to hand and pointing 
out from the crutch like a jib boom. At this warn¬ 
ing to Harbottle, however, he turned squarely round 
and fixed his eyes on the swarth, dour face of the 
mate. And the mate, biting his bearded lip, looked 
past him over the roseate morning sea. 

“ Drop that peak!” he spoke up at last. “ And 
bring her up into the wind! Now lower that center- 
board to stop her from driftin’ to lee’ard!” 

They lay hove to, lifting and falling to the gentle 
heave of the swells. Mr. Portalegre continued to 
gnaw his lower lip in poorly suppressed anger at 
this enforced inactivity. 

“ Do you see what I see, Mac?” he asked suddenly 
in bated voice of his harpooner in the bow, a dark 
Scotch-Irishman named McLellan. 

“ Shure, sor, and ’tis the mate himself has wan 
av the bulls and the other two is contint with thim 
pore cows, the chicken-hearted varmints! It’s in me 
mind, sor, to tell you to overhaul Mr. Carthew and 
make a grand bluff at lendin’ assistance. Go in 
yourself, he’ll say thin, and bad cess to thim other 
two!” 

Portalegre’s swarthy face lighted up. 

u I guess you’re right, Mac. We’ve held on and 
off long enough to satisfy the Old Man! Up with 
71 


SEA PLUNDER 


that peak, men,” cheerily, “ and case that center- 
board ! ” 

They ranged alongside the first mate's boat, which 
was down by the head from the weight of the line 
paying off round the logger post. 

“ Need any line or help?” called Portalegre. 

Carthew shook his head and grinned. 

“ Go in and git fast yourself, Port!” he shouted. 
“ There's another big bull besides the one we've 
struck, on’y he's sounded. Be careful not to run 
over him or you’ll miss him wide.” 

“ But the Old Man’s orders! How about Moseby 
and Petrie?” 

“ No good! They're fiddlin' round with them 
small cows. Make a showin’ for yourself, Port, 
and you’ll stand ace-high with the skipper and no 
questions asked!” 

It was just what the third mate had hoped for, so 
he was fully prepared now to scoot off to leeward 
after the racing school. But before he could over¬ 
haul the herd or even cut off one of its members along 
a chord of the great circle they were making, there 
rose a tremendous commotion in the water dead 
ahead. 

“Stand up, Mac!” he breathed, and the suppressed 
note of agitation in his voice warned Sherwood in 
time not to turn his head. “ Unship your mast, 
men,” softly, “and fleet it aft!” 

The long pole with the sail bundled around it was 
passed back to Sherwood and Sam and they were 
just securing it by sticking the heel under the after¬ 
thwart (two-thirds of the mast extending out over 
72 


SEA PLUNDER 


the stern), when there came a bump from the bow, 
and they were flung off their feet and sent sprawling 
upon their backs. 

“ Give it to him, Mac, go give it to him!” yelled 
Portalegre, and then, immediately after, “ Sheer off, 
port bow! Out oars, all you fellows to port, and 
shove off! Do you wanta be caught by his flurry!” 

In the small confusion that followed Sherwood saw 
that they were grazing the side of what looked like 
an enormous burst balloon, floating on the sea. It 
was as if the harpoon, sunk to its shaft and still 
vibrating, had punctured the bluish-black bag, allow¬ 
ing the emission of all buoyant gas. Even as he 
looked, another harpoon twanged close to the first 
and buried itself like a toothpick in jelly! 

“ Good God!” exclaimed Harbottle hysterically, 
sighting the whale at that moment. The next 
moment he was lying prone over a thwart, un¬ 
conscious to all future happenings. The mate, in 
leaping forward to exchange places with the har- 
pooner, had struck him a terrific wallop on the side 
of the jaw and he had crumpled up like a paper doll. 

“Out oars, everybody!” shouted the mate, as if 
nothing had happened. “ Back water, you blithering 
bums! ” 


73 


CHAPTER XI 


But by the time all oars were out and Portalegre 
had changed places with his harpooner (McLellan 
becoming the boat-steerer), the whale had sounded 
and the inch-and-a-half line, bent to the harpoons, 
was rushing out of the larger tub, surging round 
the loggerhead in the stern, paying forward along the 
center of the boat between the men, leaning out¬ 
board, and slipping down into the water through the 
chocks in the head of the stem. 

The loggerhead is thus placed in the stern for 
three reasons. First, to allow the boat-steerer to 
snub the line as it smokes out; secondly, to minimize 
the possibility of the boat being pulled to pieces 
by the tremendous tow of the whale; but most of all, 
to make it easy for the men to heave in on the rope 
without leaving their thwarts, when it becomes neces¬ 
sary to close up to lance the prize. 

“Hold ’er up!” shouted Portalegre as the boat, 
down by the bow, shipped water. Every one of the 
crew, with the natural exception of the unconscious 
Harbottle, made haste to scramble into the raised 
stern sheets. 

Then, for a spell, there was little to do but tend 
the whale line while the larger vat was emptied and 
the rope in the smaller one was spliced on with 
lightning speed and dexterity, and paid out. They 
could make out the Ballenas off to windward; but 
from their low level, not a sign or sail of the other 
74 


SEA PLUNDER 


whaleboats was in sight. On a sudden their stern 
splashed down in the water and the bow lifted. 

“ Rouse in that line there, you swabs!” bellowed 
the mate. “ And don’t try to fake it down careful! 
Loose and quick does the trick! Coil it in them 
starn sheets!” 

Out from the sea off their bow lifted the great 
square head of their prey. As he spouted (a plumy 
tuft of vapor like a weak jet of steam), there was a 
disruption in the swells alongside him, and a cow, 
one-third his size, broke water. 

“ Consarn it all!” exclaimed Portalegre angrily. 
“ Here’s the queen of his harem buttin’ into our 
game! Bend your backs, men, and break your oars! 
We’ve got to run up between them two to kill that 
bull!” 

“ Let the cow alone, Port!” warned the boat- 
steerer softly from the stern sheets. 

Portalegre nodded. He whipped the sweat from 
his dark brow and, as they ran in between the two 
huge brutes, hurled his lance with an inarticulate, 
crazy yell. Like a pin in a cushion, the spear sank 
to its pole-hitches, its warp thrumming like a guitar 
string. The cow, on the other board, was so close 
alongside by them that Sherwood felt he could almost 
poke his finger in her little eye! 

“ Starn, starn all!” shouted the mate, and the men 
backed water. “ Trail oars! ” came in swift suc¬ 
cession, for the wounded bull had started off to 
windward at top speed, escorted closely by the ham¬ 
pering cow. 

What followed was like a race in an ice boat. 

75 


SEA PLUNDER 


Their craft, towing at bounding clip, hardly seemed 
to have any draft at all. Only by the flying spray 
did Sherwood know he was cutting through water. 
Indeed, it was for all the world like skimming 
through the air. 

“ In oars! ” cried Portalegre hastily. “ Boat ’em 
quick, everybody but Mac! And don’t sit there like 
a hunk of dummy, Curly!” to Sherwood. “ Limber 
your spine and bail out this swampin’ spray!” 

Out of the smother, speeding as they were into the 
wind’s eye, they sighted the old Ballenas dead 
ahead. The men they had left aboard — the cooper, 
Chips, the steward and cook — had trimmed her 
yards to the wind and hauled up the courses and, 
putting the helm down, had rounded her to. Sher¬ 
wood, as he emptied his bucket over the gunwale, 
could descry the indistinguishable figures of these 
ship-keepers out over the barky’s flank now, rigging 
the cutting-stage for flenching their prizes. 

He thought he spied, through the rain of spume, 
the distance-diminished form of Captain Ham Yard- 
ley in the main crow’s nest. The next time he lifted 
up, he noted above at the masthead a square yellow 
flag with a black dot in its center. The flag was 
dipping jerkily, performing a frenzied dance, as if 
the skipper, excited, were signaling them of some 
danger hidden to their view but plainly discernible 
from his lofty perch! 

“ And do you pipe that now, Port, me boy?” 
asked Boat-steerer McLellan, with the trace of a 
smile. “ The Old Un’s a-warning of us to hold fast 
to what we’ve got and let the blame’ cow be! You’d 
76 


SEA PLUNDER 


better reassure His Nibs with a teeny flutter of 
your weft!” 

“ No chance of me doin’ otherwise and gettin’ in 
bad with him ag’in!” muttered Portalegre sourly. 
He broke out the boat’s flag and waved it like a 
hat at the end of his arm. 

“Ah, I thought so!” he added more cheerfully. 
“It’s high time!” as the bull, fazed by the prox¬ 
imity of the ship, veered round and the line slackened 
and the boat lost way. “ Haul in there, you navvies! 
Shake it up lively!” 

Hand over hand they hauled up on the whale 
until squeezing past the faithful cow, they opened 
the bull for a final deadly lance-thrust. His shirt- 
tail whipping out behind him, Portalegre lifted in 
the bow and hurled his long spear, shouting insanely. 
The blade entered between fin and eye, and stabbed 
to the mammal’s vitals! 

He lifted up his flukes for the first time, then, and 
went into convulsions — thrashing the water with 
hollow, echoing blows and rolling from side to side 
until the surrounding sea was broken with white- 
caps, among which the whaleboat rocked like a 
cockleshell. But McLellan proved no slouch at the 
great steering sweep, keeping them up from shipping 
water and sculling off out of range of his flurry. 

Blood was floating like films of oil upon the choppy 
sea when once again the bull sounded, accompanied 
as before by the constant cow. The wet line flung 
moisture and sang its monotonous tune for fully 
fifteen minutes round the loggerpost; and the bottom 
boards began to show through the coils in the stern. 
77 


SEA PLUNDER 


“Up oars!” yelled Portalegre, growing panicky 
despite the fact that there was still more rope, 
hitherto unused and neatly flemished down in the 
smaller tub. 

The blades were trimmed fore and aft and, at this 
signal to the mother ship, the men on the cutting 
stage were seen to dart about like agitated ants. 
By the time the coils in the stern sheets had paid 
out and the dry flakes began to unwind from the 
smaller vat, these ship-keepers put off in the skip¬ 
per’s boat, laden with two fresh tubs of manila line 
and under command of Chips, the carpenter. 

But there proved no immediate need to take the 
tubs aboard, for almost under the counter of the 
Ballenas, the bull-cachalot broke water and rolled 
feebly and spouted blood. He was done for and at 
last, in his death throes, the faithful cow had deserted 
him. She was nowhere in sight. 

“ Round in there, everybody, and haul up smartly 
on Mr. Bull!” called the mate, grinning with elation 
through his tangle of beard. “ And keep alongside 
there, Chips!” as the boat began to tow up toward 
the whale. “ I’ve got a sweet little present for you 
in exchange for them tubs I never shipped nor used! ” 

He turned to the Kanaka who was rousing in with 
the others on the dripping line and flinging it in wide 
circles into the stern sheets. 

“ Belay that, Samson,” he ordered, “ and pass over 
to Chips our millyunaire gadget there! He’s sound 
asleep, knocked out by yours truly for goin’ batchy,” 
he explained to the other boat, “ and we’s got work 
to do to tow that whoppin’ big bull round to the 
78 


SEA PLUNDER 


stagin’ and there ain’t no sense in haulin’ dead- 
wood ! ” 

As if lifting a child, Sam took the unconscious 
form of the senator in his great arms and with one 
foot on an after thwart, the other upon the gunwale, 
passed him over to the carpenter’s craft. Immedi¬ 
ately Harbottle showed signs of returning life, and 
Sam smiled. He realized the wily hap a haole felt 
free at last from the ordeal of whaling. 

He said nothing, however, but was just shifting 
his weight back into his own boat when there came 
a sudden cry, “ Fast fish!” and with a tremendous 
jerk, the bow dipped down, flinging him backward. 
He sought to retain his balance by bracing one foot 
behind him. As luck would have it, he only suc¬ 
ceeded in stepping full into the center of the wet 
tiers of manila coiled in the stern sheets. Before 
he could heed the warning, “ Clear line for runnin’!” 
a bight of the rope leaped up, spattering water, and 
nipped a turn about the shank of his leg as if it were 
a loggerpost! 

“ Ouch!” he yelled and went down on the base of 
his spine, his leg wrenched from under him. 


79 


CHAPTER XII 


Sam continued to cry out many times in the agony 
of the swift seconds that followed, for instead of 
slipping freely round his leg as it would round a 
loggerhead, the whale line drew tight, cutting his 
skin and sinking into the flesh, and he was dragged 
bumping from thwart to thwart, until his outflung 
foot brought slap up against the stem. 

“Hold on there!” cried Portalegre, leaning over 
the bow and attempting to haul in on the taut line. 
“ Do you wanta git carried overside and down below 
after thet fast cow? Quick now, while she’s slack!” 
he added, up to his knees in water. 

Sam dug his fingers under the binding coil and 
flung it off his leg. Then with a groan he rolled 
over, the crease left in his trouser by the rope 
already darkening and filling with blood. 

“Scramble aft!” shouted the mate, his swarthy 
face coffee-colored with his exertions. Their bow 
was down, the fore-sheets under water and the stern 
elevated at such an angle that the boat seemed 
standing on its nose. “ Trim ship, everybody, and 
tend that line! ” 

They settled a little with this sudden shifting of 
weight, the bow clearing the water and the bilge 
sloshing back as far as the mast-thwart. On hands 
and knees, his poor bruised leg sticking up like a 
sore thumb, Sam made to crawl aft toward the others, 
but he fainted dead away with the effort and it was 
80 


SEA PLUNDER 


moments before he could come to again and struggle 
on. 

“ Bear-a-hand there, Chips, with them fresh 
tubs!” urged the excitable Portalegre. “ And you 
two lumps in the starn sheets! Don’t stand there 
like yawping idjits! Bend on a drogue to the end 
of that line and make it lively afore she’s all paid 
out and we gotta let go! ” 

While Sherwood and Jorgenson, the other able- 
bodied seaman who had pulled the bow oar, were 
busy attaching the stopwater (a square piece of 
planking) to the tail of their rapidly diminishing 
line, the carpenter brought his boat alongside. Sher¬ 
wood could see Harbottle coiled up in the bottom 
and he realized, with a slight smile, that coming as 
he was once more within range of the mate’s fist, 
the wily senator was again feigning unconscious¬ 
ness as hard as he could! 

“ Must have a fast fish there, Port, all right,” said 
Chips as he helped his assistants — the cooper, 
steward and cook — to heave over the tubs. 
“ Though how that kin well be, with that tarnashun 
big bull floatin’ at the other end, is more’n I kin 
make out!” 

Portalegre, as he answered, lost no time from the 
pressing duties of the moment. Even while the 
larger tub was being shipped aboard and nested 
in their empty vat of similar size, his dexterous 
fingers were securing the beginning of its line to the 
drogue on the end of his own. “ It’s that darned 
cow, the faithful Fateema, as you might call her!” 
he growled, taking a couple of half hitches round 
81 


SEA PLUNDER 


the plank. “And I make no bones but what she 
got all snarled up in our line, the same as pore 
Samson there!” nodding toward the Kanaka who 
was swaying upon a thwart as though dizzy from 
loss of blood. 

“ Wal, Fateema must ’a’ drawed them harpoons 
clean from her lord and marster!” commented Chips, 
gazing out toward where the huge carcass of the 
cachalot almost scraped its hump against the over¬ 
hang of the ship’s stern. “ I can’t see nary a sign 
of them irons!” 

Portalegre hurled overboard the connecting drogue 
and for a moment, his own line having not quite 
run out, it floated free upon the water. 

“ Well, that’ll deaden her way!” he mixed a grin 
with his beard. “ There’s eighteen hundert feet 
of line out already and that stop water is ekal to 
the drag of four boats, besides. Ah, there she goes! ” 
as the drogue was jerked beneath the surface. Coil 
after coil of the new silky manila began to pay out 
of the larger vat, and again there was nothing to 
do but listen to its tune as it hummed round the 
loggerhead. Taking advantage of the temporary 
respite, Sherwood secured the water-breaker and 
made forward with it to offer Sam a reviving drink. 

“ Wal, we’re on our way, Port!” called the car¬ 
penter, shoving off. “ You go in and git this Fateema 
cow! It’ll be what the poet calls a u-neek haul, 
if you make it; so don’t you mind this dead bull 
none! We’ll lop off his tail-feathers for you and 
tow him, starn-fust, up to the stagin’! ” 

“ Belay that!” cried Portalegre with sudden idea. 

82 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Stand alongside a momint, Chips, and lend me one 
of your hands. I didn’t mind so much puttin’ this 
millyunaire lubber out of the runnin’,” he explained, 
“ because Samson thar was as good as two the likes 
of him. But now with that brown giant no longer 
able to stand on his pins and on’y two good men and 
Mac aboard, I’m as short-handed as a measly blue- 
noser! 

“Here you, Curly Locks!” he added in a loud 
aside to Sherwood, “ ’vast that good Samaritan stuff 
and lend Jorgy a hand in stowin’ that Kanaka aboard 
Chips’ craft!” 

Sherwood did not resent Portalegre’s criticism of 
his actions. He felt that the mate’s words were 
only a hard-shelled disguise and that his true pur¬ 
pose was to get Sam off his feet and snug in his 
berth as soon as possible. 

But even had he meant what he said, it could not 
have escaped Portalegre that Sherwood’s charity 
stood them in good stead during the removal. For 
the water he had gulped had momentarily revived 
the huge Polynesian and, smiling wanly at Sher¬ 
wood, he was able to bring to their aid what ebb of 
strength still remained to him. Otherwise, with him 
a dead weight in their hands, it would have been an 
arduous task for the two men, even with the assist¬ 
ance of the boat-steerer, to have shifted that six 
and a half feet of bone and muscle over into the 
other boat. 

“ Now who’ll you have, Port?” asked the car¬ 
penter, the transition accomplished. “ Doc Limey?” 
indicating the cross-eyed cockney cook. 

83 


SEA PLUNDER 


“Not him!” Portalegre shook his head, toning 
his words with a smile. “ You’d put a jinx on us, 
Doc, with them catty-cornered eyes of yourn, and 
we might lose this danged cow! As it is, Fateema’s 
sounding longer’n I thought she could stand, arter 
all that work of keeping up with her mate. Better 
lend me the skipper’s waiter!” he added, with all a 
true sailor’s enmity for that pantry-chief and ex¬ 
clusive servant to the captain known as the steward. 

Freighted with those two hors de combat , the 
carpenter’s boat presently pulled away for the dead 
bull, leaving Portalegre to tend the line from the 
fresh tubs until he had fully three thousand feet 
out and began to fear he should have to signal for 
more. 

Then, with a splash and a bound, the stern settled 
and the bow came up. The rope no longer whined 
round the loggerhead and, half a mile to leeward, the 
faithful cow broke water. But so strenuous had 
been her previous struggles to keep pace with her 
huge consort and so long since had she been under 
water that she was quite spent now, her spiracle dis¬ 
tended and gasping vapor. 

They hauled up on her hand over hand, as if 
warping to a wharf; and from all appearances, it 
seemed they would encounter no trouble of any kind 
in lancing her. But when Portalegre hurled his 
spear, it struck against a solid sheathing of bar¬ 
nacles, crabs and limpets ringing her body and, in 
glancing off, came flying back into the boat. 

“ Look out!” shrieked the mate, attempting to jerk 
in on the warp. 


84 


SEA PLUNDER 


But before the men could duck below the gun¬ 
wale or even throw up a protecting arm, the spear 
caught the captain’s steward full in the throat! With 
an odd gurgling sound, he fell back, striking his head 
against a thwart, and lay still, the lance sticking 
up from his throat and quivering like a reed! 


85 


CHAPTER XIII 


“Let him alone! He’s a’ready a deader!” cried 
Portalegre, hauling in on the warp. “ Stand by, 
everybody! ” 

Lifting up in the bow, cursing terribly, he let fly 
the fatal spear a second time and, for all his fury, 
he was careful to aim higher this time. The lance 
entered the cow above the ring of barnacles just 
forward of the broad shoulder-blade. 

It was a mortal wound. Without any evidence of 
flurry, her breathing slowly ceased and she remained 
floating upon the sea like a balloon whose bag had 
been pricked and gas allowed to escape. 

Portalegre turned to look at the steward in this 
temporary respite. The poor fellow was lying upon 
his back, his head against a thwart, his eyes open to 
the sky and strangely glazed. 

“ Is he sure gone, Curly?” he asked in bated voice 
of Sherwood. 

The news writer, nearest the steward, bent over. 
But he could feel no flutter of pulse; there was no 
warm dampness on his palm when he held it above 
the sagging mouth. 

“ He’s dead all right,” he announced with finality. 

“ Shure, and that’s what comes of tryin’ to make 
a whaler out of a waiter!” spoke up McLellan 
from the stern sheets. “ The Old Un will cuss you 
up and down, Port, for losin’ his foine servant.” 

“ Wal, I wish now I had taken that cross-eyed 
86 


SEA PLUNDER 


cook,” said Portalegre regretfully. “ He couldn’t 
have brought us any worse luck!” 

“No, ’tis the truth you’re spakin’,” agreed Mc- 
Lellan, nodding. “ Me, when I saw that lance 
stickin’ up from his gullet, I was ’minded of a 
soundin’-rod in a ship’s well!” 

Portalegre shivered, then got himself in hand. 

“ Let’s turn to, Mac, afore this cow begins to foun¬ 
der on us. Arter we’ve towed her up to the stagin’, 
we kin git rid of the pore steward.” 

The whale line was fouled between the cow’s jaws, 
they found, as if she had tried most heroically to 
bite it in twain. She had succeeded in drawing the 
harpoons completely out of the body of her mate; 
but lacking teeth in her upper jaw (as is the case 
with all her species), her devoted efforts had only 
resulted in her snarling herself hopelessly in the rope 
and sharing, in the end, the selfsame fate as her lord 
and master. 

In a constrained silence, the men lopped off the 
tips of her flukes and bored a hole through the solid 
gristle of her tail. Then, reeving a line through the 
boring and making it fast aboard the whaleboat, they 
laid to their oars and, bending them like bamboo 
canes, struggled toward the cutting-stage, the bilge 
sloshing about the dead man lying between them on 
the bottom boards. 

The skipper’s boat, in command of the carpenter, 
had already succeeded in putting aboard Harbottle 
and the injured Sam, and was at that moment en¬ 
gaged in bringing their first capture alongside. As in 
the case of the cow, this was being done, on account 
87 


SEA PLUNDER 


of the huge squareness of the sperm whale’s head, 
by towing the bull tail-first. Looking round as they 
slowly overhauled the Ballenas, Sherwood could see 
that Captain Yardley was giving the big bull, be¬ 
cause of its size, the post of honor on the best fluke- 
chain. 

By means of a diminutive buoy and a hand lead, 
Chips and his men were passing a turn of the huge 
chain round the small of the bull, just above the 
broad spread of the tail. Then bringing in the free 
end through a mooring-pipe forward, they were 
securing the massive cable about a heavy bitt at 
the heel of the bowsprit. 

They themselves had to be satisfied with taking 
a hawser from the ship and making it fast about 
the cow. While Portalegre and his harpooner were 
attending to this, Sherwood and Jorgenson carried 
the body of the steward up on deck by means of the 
cutting-stage which extended out from the ship’s 
flank like a square U. 

Captain Yardley met them, puffing at an old cob 
pipe, a wide grin wrinkling the triangular scar on his 
cheek. Even at sight of his dead servant, he did not 
lose the smirk. He asked them a few questions about 
the accident, then told them to lay the dead man 
out upon the forward hatch. 

“ A fine haul, Mr. Portalegre, a grand haul,” he 
said, stepping to the bulwark, rubbing his hands 
together. 

The mate, below on the staging, looked up. 

“ I’m sorry, sir, about the steward,” he began 
fearfully. 


88 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Oh, tut, tut, Portalegre! That couldn’t be 
helped! ” 

“ Did you see it, sir?” 

“No; when it happened, I was busy directin’ 
them lubbers of ship-keepers how to tow that bull. 
But your two men have explained it all to me. Don’t 
worry, Port!” with unexpected graciousness. “You’re 
not to blame. It jest couldn’t be helped. And, 
besides, I’m puffectly willin’ to go without enny 
steward while we turn all hands to bi’lin’ out this 
fine haul of fat. A grand haul, Mr. Portalegre! 
Fact is, I on’y once seen anythin’ like it and that 
was a good many years ago when I fust started 
whalin’! ” 

“ Wal,” the mate smiled under cover of his beard, 
“ I thought I’d make it up to you, sir, for the loss of 
that boat off the Bonims! ” 

“Aw, come, Port, don’t rub it in! That bull 
alone would ’a’ been enuff for any one boat. Why, 
do you know, sir, I’ll bet he’ll run a hundert and 
fifty barr’ls, he’s so plumb fat with blubber! And 
sparm! . . . But what’s this? ” peering under his 
hand to leeward, his face lengthening. 

Following the direction of the skipper’s gaze, 
Portalegre and his crew sighted Mr. Petrie coming 
up, his boat crowded to the gunwales with fully a 
dozen men and no sign of a towing whale. 

“ Shure, sir, and it’s here where the Old Un loses 
his grin and gits it in the neck from his foine pet — 
Petrie!” whispered McLellan, punning on the fourth 
mate’s name. 

Portalegre winked at him. Then, posing his facial 
89 


SEA PLUNDER 


muscles so that he wore an expression of commisera¬ 
tion, he turned toward the oncoming craft. 

“ Lose a boat?” he queried innocently. 

“ Yes, Port,” replied Mr. Moseby, the second 
mate, bobbing up beside Petrie in the bow. He 
spoke loudly for the benefit of the ears of the cap¬ 
tain above. “We was fast to a cow when she 
settled and we ran over her. Then when we thought 
we was well clear, up she bobs right beneath us and 
rips a hole in our bottom with her damn hump! 
On’y for Mr. Petrie here standin’ by, we’d all have 
bin drawed down sartin with the suction of that 
hole!” 

“ But what happened to your cow, Mr. Petrie?” 
asked the skipper in an ominously softened voice. 
“ I thought I spied you fast.” 

“ I was, sir, but I had to chop my line to lend aid 
to Mr. Moseby.” 

“ We both had to cut clear of our cows, sir,” 
Moseby helped him out. 

“ And it wouldn’t have been so bad, sir,” pleaded 
Petrie, “ on’y one of my greenies, that whiner, Evans, 
had to go temp’ry blind from the glare on the sea. 
He’s all right now, sir, but at the time he was ram¬ 
pagin’ around, cuttin’ up didoes regardless, and I 
had to lay him out, clip our line and set a course for 
Mr. Moseby all to once!” 

The captain hurled his pipe upon the deck with 
such violence that it broke into a hundred pieces. 
His fluent profanity flickered about them like light¬ 
ning. 

“ Damn you, Petrie! ” he bellowed in his old 
90 


SEA PLUNDER 


hoarse voice. “ I’ll bet there was small need to go 
to Moseby’s aid! Here Mr. Portalegre had one man 
go batchy and another snarl his leg in the line, and 
still he came in with not one whale but two! Let 
’em sink or swim, that’s the motto. Whales are 
more valyable than men any day! You oughter 
held on to that cow, Petrie! You’re a whaler, man, 
not a life-saver and the quicker you clap on to that 
and hold fast, the better off you’ll be! 

“ Now,” calming down, “ stand by on that stagin’, 
you two and your crews. Here comes Mr. Carthew 
towin’ a whopper and you kin help him make secure. 
But fust send up a coupla your hands, Moseby, to 
make a sea-shroud for my steward! Yep, he’s dead,” 
in answer to their suddenly horror-stricken look. 
“ He slipped his cable suddint, while helpin’ out in 
Mr. Portalegre’s boat. But Port came in with his 
prize jest the same!” 

He turned toward the astonished Portalegre then, 
while whispered questions buzzed up from the newly 
arrived crews. 

“ Come aboard there, Port, whenever you’re 
ready,” he beamed. “ We’ve got a late breakfust 
cornin’ up for you and your men, and I guess you’ve 
more’n earned it! It’s good, though,” he added with 
a wry smile, “ that you took my pore steward instead 
of Doc Limey along with you, or you might t’other- 
wise have had to whistle for your meal!” 


91 


CHAPTER XIV 


As he swung over the bulwark this second time, 
Sherwood could not help noticing that the cover 
had been removed from the try-works amidship. 
Two huge pots stood revealed, enclosed within that 
square erection of cemented bricks which first had 
puzzled him when he had come aboard the spouter. 

Everything was in readiness for the boiling 
process. Beneath the pots, unlighted, was a furnace 
of sheet iron stuffed with a peculiar fuel composed 
of “ scraps ” or “ fritters ” — strips of blubber from 
which the oil had been expressed. Beneath the 
sheet iron of the furnace was a sink filled with 
water to prevent the deck catching fire from the 
shooting sparks and overbubbling oil. 

“ Did you take a slant at Samson’s leg, sir?” 
asked Portalegre with unexpected solicitude, as he 
came aboard behind Sherwood. 

The skipper shook his head. 

“ Didn’t have no time, what with havin’ to secure 
that bull on the fluke-chain and on’y them swabs 
of ship-keepers to do the job. I was jest grabbin’ 
a smoke to settle my narves,” he explained almost 
apologetically, “ and then that thar Petrie had to 
show up empty-handed and upset me entire. But I 
bundled Sam below and tole him to keep to his 
bunk till I could find a momint to git around to look 
him over.” 

“ You saw what happened, sir?” 

92 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Sartainly. I was watchin’ from the main crow’s 
nest and I guess his leg was wrenched a bit. But 
it’s lucky for him that inch-and-a-half whale line 
ain’t no string to cut deep to the bone. It prob’ly 
no more’n squeezed his flesh, tearin’ away the skin. 
But I don’t want to have that Kanaka on the sick- 
list,” he added with sudden qualm. “ He’s too 
valyable a hand. I’ll git around in a shake to look 
him over.” 

Sherwood’s friendship for the Polynesian caused 
him to remain an interested listener. 

“ I’ll leave Samson to you, sir, then?” asked the 
mate. 

“ Aye, Mr. Portalegre! And now you kin tell 
your assembled crew that them and Mr. Carthew’s 
men kin have a forenoon watch below. I won’t even 
bother them with the burial of my steward. They 
kin smoke up and rest for a coupla hours while 
these lubbers of Messrs. Moseby and Petrie are busy, 
heavin’ the steward into the sea and cuttin’ in on 
them whales.” 

“ Thank you, sir. I believe they’re entitled to the 
holiday,” said the mate, realizing the honor it also 
conveyed to himself. “ They’re fust-class whale¬ 
men by now-” 

“ Even the greenies, Port?” 

“ Aye, sir; that is, all but one.” 

“ Oh, him!” snorted the skipper. “Well, don’t 
you worry none, Mr. Portalegre, about that li’l 
millyunaire, Fauntleroy! I’ll teach him a thing or 
two! He’ll think he’s taken a bath in whale ile 
afore I’m done with him!” 

93 



SEA PLUNDER 


“ You mean, sir,” took up the mate, grinning as 
at a good joke — “ you mean to put him down in the 
blubber-room?” 

Captain Yardley nodded, his gimlet eyes twinkling 
between their pudgy lids. 

“ Right-o!” he said. “ And Evans, the guy who 
went batchy blind, will be his relief! One of the 
old hands, of coz, will go below with each of ’em 
to show them the ropes; they’re hardened to it by 
now. But it’ll be a treat to watch Fauntleroy and 
that Welshman spillin’ about among them oozy 
blankets and hoss pieces!” And he guffawed in 
anticipation. 

When he got forward, Sherwood found Harbottle 
sitting on the edge of his bunk, nursing his head, 
and Sam turned in and groaning dully with pain. 

“ Your head still buzzing, Weymore?” he asked 
as he made by. 

The hapa haole looked up with sick eyes. 

“ I’ll say!” nodding. “Indeed, compared to 
Portalegre, the skipper only had a glass arm! ” 

“ Well,” commented Sherwood grimly, “ it’s good 
you weren’t in the boat when the steward was killed.” 

“ Killed?” Harbottle shuddered. “ Good Lord, 
man, this is terrible! How did it happen-” 

But Sherwood had a finger to his lip. He was 
leaning over the Polynesian’s bunk, the palm of 
his other hand on Sam’s forehead. 

“ How do you feel, old timer?” he asked. 

The damp brown face of the Kanaka broke into 
a drawn smile of recognition. 

“ Better now, She’wood,” he lied manfully. 

94 



SEA PLUNDER 


But Neil could feel the cold sweat on his brow and 
the temples fluttering feverishly. 

“ I’ll draw you a drink from the fo’c’s’le pump,” 
he said, “ and then take a look-see at your leg.” 

As Captain Yardley had surmised, the whale line, 
on account of its inch-and-a-half thickness, had not 
bit deep to the bone. It had no more than abraded 
the skin and squeezed the flesh into a groove that 
still remained like a mold in plaster. The shank 
was no longer bleeding, but the whole leg was tender 
from the brutal wrenching and the exposed flesh was 
shockingly coated with a coagulated mass of dry 
blood and grimy tatters of the trouser that had 
been cut away. 

“ I’d better wash it off with lukewarm water, Sam,” 
he offered. “ The Old Man said he’d be down in a 
shake and perhaps he’ll appreciate finding the bruise 
all clean and ready for his ministrations. He’ll 
probably put something better than whale oil on it 
to ease the pain; but right now, I’ll bet, it smarts 
like blazes, eh?” 

“ It was worse in the boat,” said Sam. 

Sherwood made aft and stuck his head through 
the door of the galley. Amid a spluttering of grease, 
the cook was turning flapjacks with a flipper almost 
as long as a whale lance. 

“ Wot cheer, Chummy?” he asked in fluting cock¬ 
ney voice, looking up and wiping the end of the 
flipper upon his greasy apron of sacking (the same 
he had worn when Sherwood first had come aboard). 
“ You hain’t come to ’urry me on that breakfust be 
you? ’Cause ef you are, Hi’m gonna tell you some- 
95 


SEA PLUNDER 


thin’! Hi’ve bin worked up a-plenty this mornin’. 
Hit’s ’ard enuff to have to do two men’s work, me 
own and that of the bleedin’ steward, and now Hi’m 
not gonna git no feed for you horgs in a jiffy! Hit’s 

a bloody shyme the w’y Hi’ve been ’azed and-” 

“ You’re right, Doc,” conciliated Sherwood; “ and 
as far as I’m concerned, you can take your own good 
time about breakfast. I just wanted to borrow a 

pitcher of hot water-” 

“ To wash up afore eatin’? Now you’re a fawncy 
gintleman, I’ll s’y!” 

Sherwood denied the dubious compliment with a 
shake of the head. 

“No; I merely want to use it to wash off the 
bruise on Sam’s leg. You know, Cooky, the Kanaka. 

He was injured this morning-” 

“Oho!” exclaimed the doctor, cocking one eye 
at him and the other at the ceiling. “ Ef you hain’t 
the boundin’ jackpuddin’! But go ahead and draw 
your bloomin’ water. Only don’t you dare arsk me 
to ’elp! Hi’m a white man, Hi ham, and Hi don’t 
pl’y the wet nurse to no bloody nigger!” 


96 





CHAPTER XV 


Sherwood held his peace, realizing the futility 
of arguing with such gross ignorance and prejudice. 
Returning across the deck with his bucket of steam¬ 
ing water, he noticed the crews of Moseby and Petrie 
grouped about the port rail, bare of head, their caps 
in their hands. The skipper was in their midst, 
reading something from a book. As Neil came up, 
a couple of the men lifted the forward hatch-cover 
and shunted a canvas-wrapped figure upon it over 
the bulwark into the sea. It was the body of the 
steward. 

Returning to the fo’c’s’le, Sherwood proceeded 
carefully to wash off the Kanaka’s wound. He 
wished he could have painted it with iodine as a 
precaution against poisoning, but lacking medicines 
of any kind, he thought to bandage the bruise lightly 
until Captain Yardley should appear. 

Naturally he had no gauze or lint on hand which 
would keep out the dirt and still allow the passage 
of healing air. But under the donkey-breakfast in 
his bunk, washed and thus laid away against the 
time he might don it again, was the silk shirt he had 
worn when he had come aboard. He got out the 
shirt and was busily tearing it into strips when Doc 
Limey came down the ladder, laden with pots and 
pans and singing his favorite refrain: 


97 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ There’s so menny bugs hin the best o’ us, 

And so menny bugs hin the worst o’ us, 

Hit hain’t becomin’ enny o’ us, 

To be so skeered of the rest o’ us!” 

It was certainly an unpalatable invitation to eat; 
but the embittered, warped personality of the cook 
made him chant this each time he brought on food, 
perhaps with the deep purpose of staving off any 
criticism of his slovenly cooking and greasy person. 

“ Wot’ll you have, b’ys?” he ended as per usual. 
“ Flapjacks and java and ’eaps o’ longlick?” 

The men clustered greedily about the table, the 
flaps of which had been lifted to either side of the 
stanchion in the center of the narrow space between 
the bunks. Sherwood, although as hungry as any 
of them, saw first to filling a plate with three of 
the cakes, swimming in molasses, and brought them, 
with a pannikin of coffee, to the helpless Kanaka. 

“ You’re a good man, She’wood, as I said when you 
first come aboard,” smiled Sam wanly, but Neil did 
not wait for the testimony of his thanks in extenso. 

There was no time to spare. The pan had been 
heaped with flapjacks, fully forty of them to be 
divided among the eight men; yet when Sherwood 
got back to his seat at the table, only a few soggy 
tatters remained! Some of the voracious hands had 
built up an edifice of cakes, half a dozen, one on 
top of the other and all oozing thick brown molasses. 
They had no concern how he should fare. But the 
cook, knowing his playmates, shortly returned with 
a smaller batch and Sherwood was able to stomach 
a trio. 


98 


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By the time they had lighted their pipes and 
cigarettes for the forenoon liberty below, the crew 
of the other two boats came tramping down with 
orders to look sharp about their breakfast. Sher¬ 
wood could not help but marvel at the way some of 
them got rid of the hot cakes. They folded a whole 
flapjack about a pool of molasses and gobbled it 
down bodily. 

Between Gargantuan swallows, they informed the 
others what they had been about since burying the 
steward. It was known, of course, that the bull 
Portalegre’s crew had captured was fast at the post 
of honor on the massive fluke-chain. The faithful 
cow, being much smaller in size, was thought well 
enough secured by the manila hawser so they hauled 
Mr. Carthew’s prize up under the cutting-stage to 
be the first to be flenched. 

Every moment Sherwood looked to see the cap¬ 
tain put in an appearance, but when the work-crew 
finished their meal and the skipper’s hoarse voice 
was heard hailing them on deck again, he began to 
lose hope. He thought it indeed strange that Yard- 
ley, who had been so careful of Sam when he was 
shanghaiing him, should be so lax now that he was 
injured. 

Then he realized this was the usual way with 
skippers. Once aboard ship, they act toward their 
men as if they were less than dumb beasts, taking 
little pains with their well-being and only showing 
interest in making sure they perform their full quota 
of work. 

Sherwood, however, could not sit idly by, smoking 
99 


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the vile ship’s tobacco, when he felt something 
should be done for Sam and done quickly to heal 
the wound and safeguard it from poisoning. He got 
afoot and made up the ladder with the audacious 
thought in mind of begging the captain for some 
medicines. 

On deck, all was activity. As the mate par excel¬ 
lence, poor Mr. Carthew, although the last to bring 
in a whale, had been forced to look as sharp about 
his breakfast as any of the hazed starboard watch. 
Already he had turned to with Moseby, his dis¬ 
graced second, on the cutting-in process. 

They were below on the stage, the two of them, 
standing upon the fore-and-aft plank thirty feet out, 
the whale between. Leaning over the handrail on 
the inboard edge of the plank, they were plunging 
their twelve-foot spades down that fold in the blubber 
which might be called the bull’s neck. 

Meanwhile, down on a thwartship plank, Fourth 
Mate Petrie, wearing a hangdog expression, was 
wedging a heavy chain into the mouth of the bull and 
passing it beneath the lower jaw. Hooking one of 
the large, fourfold cutting tackles into the sling of 
the chain, he hollered to the deck: 

“ Heave in!” 

Carthew and Moseby ceased their labors thereat 
and the worked-up portion of the crew on deck 
began walking round the after-capstan. The fall 
was hove in with a clattering of pawls and screaming 
of blocks; the ship canted a little and with the pull 
on his lower jaw, the bull was turned over on his 
back. 


100 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Ho, there, you interested spectator!” called Cap¬ 
tain Yardley sarcastically. “ You don’t enj’y your 
forenoon spell below, eh? Want to go to work?” 

Sherwood shook his head, smiling, and made 
toward where the skipper was standing near the 
try-works in the waist. 

“ Git out o’ here!” Yardley tried to turn him back. 
“ What do you mean, sasshayin’ around and clut¬ 
terin’ up the deck when there’s work goin’ on!” 

“ I merely want to ask you, sir,” said Sherwood, 
coming close, “ if you have any ointments aboard I 
might use on Sam’s bruised leg.” 

The skipper’s piggy eyes tightened oddly. 

“ Ointments!” he exclaimed. “ What’s the matter 
with good healin’ whale ile? Say,” challengingly, 
“ you think I don’t take proper care of my men, eh?” 

Sherwood retreated a bit. 

“ It’s not that, sir,” he tried to explain; “ nothing 
of the kind. But I don’t think whale oil would do 
in this case. There’s a chance of poisoning setting 
in, if we haven’t the proper remedies, and then Sam 
will have to lose his leg and go about on a stump!” 

The captain’s eyes opened widely, spreading back 
their pudgy lids. 

“ P’isonin’! ” he repeated with a gulp. “ The 
deuce, I never thought of that! I jedged a mere rub 
with greasy sparm would be enuff! But you’re right, 
my man,” he mellowed surprisingly. “ Bundle aft 
and tell Doc Limey to give you the run of the medi¬ 
cine chest. Capt’n’s orders, tell cooky, and take 
what you want. There ain’t much,” he admitted 
with a wry smile; “but mebbe a writin’ guy like 
101 


SEA PLUNDER 


you kin dig up somethin’ I’d never ’a’ thought of 
usin’!” 

Here was his true motivation for instructing Sher¬ 
wood to go ahead. He watched the young fellow 
make aft along the deck toward the galley. 

“ There’s a bloke with hoss sense!” he commented 
to himself. “ Me, I’d never have thought of that. 
But p’isonin’ would lay up Samson for I don’t know 
how long, and I can’t spare him nor any other hand 
more’n a day! But this feller kin fix him up bet- 
ter’n I could, so I might as well leave it up to him 
and steer clear, on’y lookin’ in later to turn the big 
brown boy to! ” 

He rubbed the scar on his cheek thoughtfully. 

“ By gum!” he muttered, of a sudden. “ There’s 
jest the man for cabin-steward! But later, Ham, 
later — arter all this blubber is tried out!” 


102 


CHAPTER XVI 


Sherwood found in the chest a bottle of iodine 
and a box of yellowish salve, the label on which 
had been rubbed off but the contents of which gave 
forth a fresh carbolic odor. As he returned along the 
deck, he was rather surprised to note how much 
progress had been made on the cutting-in. A direct 
upward tension had been kept on the lower jaw of 
the supine whale and into the exposed tight throat, 
Moseby and Carthew had dug with their boarding- 
knives, which looked like cutlasses only they were 
elongated by three-foot handles. As Sherwood got 
amidship, the lower jaw and a huge tatter of blubber 
came away from the body, and were swung up in 
one piece and lowered upon the deck. 

“ Rig up a taykel and haul that jaw aft!” shouted 
Yardley. “ Make it fast to the lash rail so it won’t 
take charge of the deck!” 

It was big enough to run amuck on any deck. It 
was fully twenty feet in length, with as many teeth 
on each side, some almost as long as the tusks of 
an elephant! The interior was lead-white, with a 
tongue so small for such a large mammal it seemed 
like the tongue of a bird. The whole mass of it 
was hauled away to the ship’s side and securely 
bound to the lash rail which ran round beneath the 
top of the bulwarks. 

While this was being done, Petrie, below on the 
staging, had commenced to hew diagonally into the 
103 


SEA PLUNDER 


blubber on the exposed belly. By means of lighter 
tackles, these strips were presently ripped off in 
“ blankets ” five feet wide by a foot deep and a 
score of feet long. 

Sherwood noticed, as he paused to look back from 
the fo’c’s’le scuttle, that these blankets were being 
lowered into that square section of the main hatch 
known as the blubber-room and, recalling Captain 
Yardley’s grim promise, he was accordingly surprised 
to find Harbottle still lingering below. Feeling sure 
the skipper had not forgotten his proposed fun, he 
could only conclude, naturally, that the real work 
had not yet begun in the blubber-room. 

He painted Sam’s wound with the iodine and the 
Polynesian submitted to the undoubted sting of it 
without a murmur, by really grinning and bearing 
it. He was bandaging the leg with a fresh strip of 
his precious silk shirt, coated with the salve, when 
Sam put out his great brown hand, a big tear show¬ 
ing in the corner of one eye. 

“ You’re a good man, She’wood,” he said, the tear 
brimming over and rolling slowly down his drawn 
brown cheek. “ You’re my friend.” 

Harbottle, sitting near on the edge of his bunk, 
lifted his head at the Kanaka’s words, that old 
peculiar look in his eyes. Getting afoot, he stepped 
up briskly and asked: 

“ You mean Sherwood’s your aikane?” 

The handsome Polynesian flushed and looked em¬ 
barrassed. 

“ Is that Kanaka?” he seemed to hedge. 

Harbottle nodded. 


104 


SEA PLUNDER 


“Yes, Hawaiian; meaning more than a friend, a 
brother.” 

“ In my language,” said Sam with a sudden acces¬ 
sion of pride, “ we call it teil” 

“ Sounds like the gibberish of the Ratak Chain,” 
discerned Harbottle out of his knowledge of the Sea 
Islands. “ You’re from the Marshalls?” 

Sam nodded. The cold sweat was standing on 
his brow with the sharpened pain of his recently 
treated bruise, and the golden glow was gone from 
his skin so that it looked, in the dimness of the 
fo’c’s’le, of a grayish undercast. 

“I’m from Maloelab Atoll where there are sixty- 
four isles within the one reef,” he replied. “ I’m one 
of Mr. Banning’s boys,” as if that were most illu¬ 
minating. 

It was, however, to Harbottle. 

“ The missionary!” he exclaimed. 

“ Yes,” from Sam, a strange quaver entering his 
voice as though with growing fever or sudden home¬ 
sickness. “ Mr. Banning has a church and school 
on Taroa, the island where I was born, the principal 
isle of the atoll and the headquarters of my father, 
the chief-” 

“ Chief?” surprised indeed. 

“ My father,” quavered Sam, a febrile sparkle 
floating like a will-o’-the-wisp in the liquid brown of 
his eyes — “ my father is Irud Mori-Marra, which 
means Chief Iron Spear. My mother was a taboo 
girl when young and all through her life was looked 
up to because she could tell the future. She told 
me,” he ran on, his voice changed to a tone quite 
105 



SEA PLUNDER 


unlike him, “ that I would be a hunter of strange 
beasts, like these whales, and that I should make 
great chums with a white man. And she described 
him and the moment She’wood here came aboard, 
I knew him for my teil” 

Harbottle was listening eagerly, with inordinate 
avidity, his mouth open and his eyes wide. It was 
as if, in his half-native soul, he believed some oracle 
were speaking. He motioned the incredulous Sher¬ 
wood not to interrupt. 

It was hard enough to hear, for Sam’s voice had 
dropped, with weakness, to a thin, trembling thread 
of whisper. 

“ She saw us in a boat together, my mother ... a 
small boat . . . and there were others there . . . 
one who seemed to be a woman. But my mother 
could only see distinctly my chum and a third man. 
She told me, my mother, that I would die for my 
white brother at the hands of this tall, darkish man. 
But not alone. . . . Mol Ap! . . . Not alone!” 

It was plain he was delirious, for his voice trailed 
away into incoherent maunderings that seemed mixed 
with strange words of his own language. Harbottle 
put a hand on Sherwood’s sleeve and drew him to 
one side. 

“ What do you make of it?” he asked with curi¬ 
ous intenseness. “ I mean, of course, that prophecy 
stuff.” And he glanced toward the Marshall Islander 
mumbling and tossing uneasily in his bunk. 

“ Oh, you might just as well ask me who is this 
dream woman!” retorted the news writer. “It’s 
all the superstitious bosh of ignorance! Surely,” in 
106 


SEA PLUNDER 


swift surprise, “ you don’t put any stock in it, do 
you, Senator?” 

The hapa haole dropped his gaze. 

“ Not much!” he attempted to lie. “ Only what’s 
puzzling me is who he can mean by that tall, darkish 
man!” 

“You think it might be yourself?” Sherwood 
chuckled, eyeing him pointedly. 

The senator started to shake his head, then 
changed to nod slowly in assent. 

“ Well, it struck me so,” he admitted hesitantly. 
“ You see, I’m tall and fairly dark-” 

“But it might be Third Mate Portalegre, who 
looks like a cavalier out of Velasquez,” Sherwood 
smiled. “ Or even your estimable stepbrother, 
Pilikea Pete. Maybe, by darkish, Sam meant black 
as a negro and perhaps, after all, he’s just making 
a case for himself so that when he gets back to 
Honolulu, he’ll be all primed up to exact his revenge 
on Pete for this shanghaiing and suffering!” 

“ Only Pete won’t be there in Honolulu,” said 
Harbottle seriously. “ Remember he said he was 
going to make his haul on this last job and leap to 
the States!” 

Sherwood nodded. 

“ What’s got me,” he added whimsically, “ is who 
can be this dream woman out in that small boat!” 


107 



CHAPTER XVII 


Shaking through the ship, at that moment, came 
the rumble of the capstan as if running free and 
slowly. Under their feet, the canted deck began to 
right. 

“What’s that?” asked Harbottle sharply, renew¬ 
ing his clutch on Sherwood’s arm. 

“ How should I know! But I guess they’re lower¬ 
ing the bull back on his belly. They’ll probably 
proceed now to strip the blubber from his dorsal 
hump. See, the old barky’s straightening up at 
this relief from the drag over her side. And hark! 
there goes Ham Yardley’s basso-projundo!” 

But there was no need to hearken, Captain Yard- 
ley’s voice could be heard from stem to stern of the 
ship. 

“ Naow, Mr. Carthew,” he was bellowing, “ finish 
cuttin’ that head clear from the body! And you, 
Moseby, chop a hole in that snout and pass through 
the chain for towin’ it astern!” 

Sherwood released his arm from the grip of the 
senator. 

“ We’re on a fairly even keel now, Weymore,” he 
smiled, “ so you can stand easily enough. But tell 
me,” he went on, “ what did poor Sam mean by that 
friend-and-brother stuff?” 

A vast surprise swam in the eyes of the hapa 
haole. 

“ Don’t you know, Neil!” he countered. “ Don’t 
108 


SEA PLUNDER 


you know what a Polynesian means when he calls 
you his aikane or tei?” 

Sherwood shook his head. 

“ No.” 

“ Well,” said Harbottle slowly, marshaling his 
facts, “ nearly every Polynesian has a particular 
friend with whom he makes an alliance, offensive and 
defensive, and to whom he feels bound to render 
service, even to the point of personal sacrifice. You 
know the Hawaiians go so far as to adopt the chil¬ 
dren of their particular friends, and they usually 
treat these wards better than their own flesh and 
blood. It is an old custom of the Sea People-” 

“ Like the clan adoption of the ancient Gaels?” 
smilingly. 

“ Yes; only it’s not such a fifty-fifty proposition, 
unless you’d say fifty per cent was the giving on their 
part and the other half the receiving on yours. It’s 
more like Sam becoming your slave. He means he’d 
go to the end of the world for you, his tribal brother, 
give you anything he has — his wife, if he had one 
and you coveted her, even his life at a pinch! Re¬ 
member his mother’s prophecy that he would die 
for you!” 

“ Oh, pshaw! what are you giving me!” objected 
the news writer at this. “ That prophecy stuff is 
only a delirium, the result of his fever. And as for 
him adopting me as his brother — why, I’ve hardly 
done anything for the man except, perhaps, what 
any one with a heart might do under the same cir¬ 
cumstances! He’s alone, injured and temporarily 
helpless, and what I’ve done I’m sure, in the same 
109 



SEA PLUNDER 


case, he would do for me! Look it, Weymore, I 
hardly know the poor fellow, though I will admit he 
has helped me out from the moment I came aboard. 
He’s been white all the way! But you’re stringing 
me a bit, now aren’t you, Senator?” uneasily. 

“ Nothing of the kind, Neil!” protested the other 
vehemently. “ It’s the way of these sons of the 
sun. It doesn’t matter that you hardly know him; 
he likes you. From the moment you stepped aboard, 
you admit he lent you a helping hand. That shows 
he liked you from that moment, all the fortune¬ 
telling connection forgotten. And he doesn’t expect 
service from you; he’s only too glad to do things 
for you! I’ll tell you what I think, Neil,” with con¬ 
viction, “ Sam must have noticed the same thing I 

have-” 

“ And what’s that?” 

“ That from the very outset you treated him like 
an equal. No, not with condescending pity because 
of his brown skin, nor with boorish horseplay like 
these other fellows because they’re envious that a 
Kanaka like him should be a finer built man than 
any of them. You acted toward him with respect 
tempered with sympathy and understanding, as one 

always acts toward an equal-” 

“ Which he certainly is!” vouched Sherwood, 
warmly. “ But what of it? As far as that goes, 
I guess everybody aboard feels the same way about 
him, deep down!” 

But Harbottle shook his head. 

“ No, Neil. You’d be surprised if you could only 
realize what a startlingly good opinion these low- 
110 




SEA PLUNDER 


browed foremast hands have of themselves! In fact, 
that’s a large part of the reason why they submit 
to some of the conditions aboard this spouter — 
they’re too proud and hard to complain! Not one 
of them offered Sam a drink of water that time in 
the boat, did they? No; it was you who did that. 
But they’re hard guys, they are — so darn hard 
they’re afraid to show the teeniest soft spot!” 

Sherwood was nodding abstractedly. 

“ Come to think of it,” he admitted, “ I guess 
you’re right, Weymore. What I have in mind,” he 
explained, “ is the stand taken by Doc Limey, the 
cook. He seemed to resent that I should want to 
draw hot water from the galley to wash off poor 
Sam’s bruise. ‘ Hi’m a white man,’ he told me, 
4 and Hi don’t pl’y the wet nurse to no bloody 
nigger!’ ” 

Harbottle could not restrain a chuckle at the 
imitation, though there was no ring of mirth, only 
grimness, in the sound. 

“ There you are, Neil!” he clinched his argument. 
“ Nigger — that’s what they all think of Sam, even 
that foul-mouthed, cross-eyed, misbegotten cockney. 
Why, if I were he, I’d sue the lord mayor of London 
for allowing me to be born!” 

“ Me too!” agreed Sherwood ungrammatically. 
He was about to add that he had perceived a re¬ 
markable change in Harbottle himself from his 
former snobbish attitude, when the senator inter¬ 
posed : 

“ That reminds me, Neil. Here you’ve fixed up 
the poor Islander like none of these lunkheads would 
111 


SEA PLUNDER 


think of doing, not even the Old Man, to whom his 
welfare is valuable in the form of work!” 

“ Oh, as for that,” qualified Sherwood modestly, 

“ I guess Yardley figured I know more about salves 
and bandages than he does, and therefore he should 
worry but leave it all to me.” 

“ Precisely the thought-process of another hard 
guy!” nodded the other. 

At that instant, as though in corroboration of the 
senator’s words, they heard Yardley vociferating like 
a bucko above on deck: 

“ Man the windlass there, you blarsted swabs! 
And make it lively with strippin’ them blankets off 
that bull’s hump!” 

Once more the capstan creaked and the pawls 
clattered and, mixing with the rumbling, came a new 
sound from the direction of Sam’s berth — a low, 
regularly spaced moaning that showed the Poly¬ 
nesian had at last sunk into troubled slumber. 

“ Well, say what you will, Neil,” summed up the 
senator, “ the result remains the same. Even had 
you not done all these good turns for Sam, you 
would still be jake with him. He likes you and 
that’s all he knows or cares. Of course, the chances 
are that when he first helped you knot your reef 
point, he read the gratitude you held for him in your 
eyes. And the admiration. He realized then you 
were not the usual foremast sort. So now he has 
made an alliance with you, adopted you for his 
brother and set up a partnership-” 

“ Like that ancient one of David and Jonathan, 
eh?” with a nervous chuckle. 

112 



SEA PLUNDER 


.“Or Damon and Pythias,” nodded Harbottle 
vigorously. “ But let me tell you something, Neil. 
He’s injured and flat on his back right now but, 
in no time at all, he’ll be up on his pins and as 
good as new. And with him worshipping you like 
he must, a fine, strapping fellow willing to guard 
and back you in anything you may attempt, I’ll tell 
you you’re stronger aboard this grease-tank than 
old Cap Yardley himself! And that carries with it 
anybody you favor. Your friend is Sam’s friend, 
your enemy, his enemy-” 

“After the fashion of love me, love my dog, eh?” 

“ Well, that’s putting it crudely, but none the 
less correctly just the same.” 

Sherwood worked the superciliary muscles above 
his eyes. 

“ And does that have any added weight with your 
newly professed friendship for me, Senator?” he 
asked not unpleasantly, but rather whimsically, as 
if to determine how much credence Harbottle him¬ 
self put in his own words. 

The hapa haole nodded readily. 

“ I’m frank, you’ll admit,” he said. “ But, truly, 
I want to stand on the right side of you, Neil, be¬ 
cause that makes me Sam’s friend. Between the 
three of us, we should be able to do something yet, 
if nothing more than organize a deserting party at 
our first port of call and get away with it. Now I’ve 
got a couple of schemes in mind, only-” 

“A-a-11 hands ah-o-o-y!” interrupted a long- 
drawn hail from the deck. “ Tumble up lively now, 
you forenoon watch, to handle the head matter!” 

113 



CHAPTER XVIII 


All blubber had been stripped from the bull and 
what still remained of the carcass — a huge mass of 
flesh and bone — had been cut adrift to serve as a 
banquet for the increasing number of hovering 
sharks. The hatches had been replaced over the 
blubber-room and the whale’s head was being hauled 
up alongside when Sherwood appeared on deck to 
help in the largest order of all, that of dividing and 
shipping it. 

The whale’s head, an immense cube of fat, flesh 
and bone, was made fast under the cutting-stage by 
means of the chain which ran through the hole 
chopped completely through its snout. Looking 
over the bulwark, as he ran aft in answer to the call, 
Sherwood noted the mates below engaged in cleaving 
a triangular mass out of this same snout. 

“ Man your windlass there, Mr. Portalegre!” 
barked Captain Yardley to the mate. “ And make 
it all hands to heave up this junk!” 

But even with as many men to a bar as could find 
handhold, the barrel seemed to stick. 

“Pipe up a chantey, Bart!” said Portalegre to 
one of the older hands and, in a voice that seemed 
to have been tuned and timed to the metallic clatter 
of the pawls, the weazened gray-beard began: “ Rol¬ 
lickin’ Bill came into town,” and all hands took up 
the refrain with a heave-ho at the end of the line: 

114 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ From off an oily whal-er!” And the bars moved 
and the hawser came in. 

Thus it went, that most ancient and simple form 
of vocal music: 

“ Rollickin’ Bill came into town, 

From off an oily whal-er! 

Rollickin’ Bill came into town, 

To meet a fair maid-en! 

“ 1 What shall we do when night comes on?’ 

Now said the fair maid-en! 

1 What shall we do when night comes on?’ 

Now said the fair maid-en! 

“‘ Hire a preacher as sure as you’re born,’ 

Said Rollickin’ Bill, the sail-or! 

‘ Hire a preacher as sure as you’re born,’ 

Said Rollickin’ Bill, the sail-or!” 

There were other verses, a bit more spicy, but all 
served the purpose. By dint of digging twice into 
the same foothold and shoving with might and main 
at the end of each couplet, while the ship listed over 
and every stick and block complained, the triangu¬ 
lar mass of snout was lifted above the bulwark. 
There it swung, an immense pyramid of matter 
filled with spongy cells and layers of white fiber — 
an unbelievable honeycomb, dripping honey that 
was, in reality, pure spermaceti. 

“ Make fast that white hoss to the lash rail so it 
won’t take charge of the deck!” yelled the skipper. 
“ And plug all them scuppers, Mr. Portalegre, so 
we won’t lose too much of that drippin’ sparm!” 

Sliding along the deck that was greased by its own 
115 


SEA PLUNDER 


exuded oil, the mass of white horse was hauled aft 
by tackles until it brought up against the lower jaw 
of the whale which had previously been shipped and 
secured. Like the jaw, it was made fast to the lash 
rail which ran round beneath the top of the bul¬ 
warks. 

“ Cast off them taykels!” bellowed Portalegre, and 
the job was done. 

But not before Sherwood, in handling the “junk,” 
had got his first taste of that oil which was to be 
his steady diet for days to come. He did not mind it 
so much as he had expected he would; his percep¬ 
tions were startled by other features. In hooking 
the tackles into the white horse and again in remov¬ 
ing them, he had found that the pulpy cells expressed 
spermaceti like water from a sponge! 

And if he had been surprised by the size of the 
lower jaw when it had been hove on board and he 
had got near its twenty feet of length, he was still 
more astonished at the hugeness of this snout of the 
bull. It lifted high above the bulwark, the top of 
its pyramid almost scraping the third ratlines of 
their mizzen rigging! And it was, at that, but a 
small portion of the whale. Never until then did he 
realize the full enormity of the fish he had been 
engaged, that morning, in hunting! 

Wherefore, it was no cause of wonder to him when 
the word went forth that the case was too large and 
heavy to get aboard. This was only another part 
of the bull’s head, the upper part, which the mates 
had separated from the skull and in the top of which 
they had opened a longitudinal slit. Disclosed by 
116 


SEA PLUNDER 


the slit was an oblong, sunken, natural reservoir of 
liquid spermaceti, clear as champagne. 

By means of the great fourfold cutting tackles, 
hooked one on each side, the case was lifted out 
of the swells and a spar rigged, like the strongback 
on a davit, above the slit between the two tackles. 
Jorgenson, one of the hands, was perched on this spar 
and armed with a long pole and a bailing bucket to 
which the end of a line was attached, the other end 
leading to the deck through a block in the main 
rigging. 

It was Jorgenson’s business to shove the bucket 
down into the well of spermaceti at the end of the 
long pole. Then, spilling grease, which the wind took 
up and blew about like sticky rain, the bucket was 
hauled onto the deck where its contents were emptied 
into the gigantic try-pots, each capable of holding 
two hundred gallons. 

It was slow and tedious work, so shortly Jorgenson 
was spelled by one of the shanghaied longshoremen 
and Sherwood was sent out with a second bucket. 
Things moved more briskly then, for while one 
bucket was swinging off the deck empty, the other 
was coming in brimming with oil and drenching 
everything. 

“ Full up!” cried Mr. Carthew, who had come 
aboard to relieve the skipper of the direct supervision 
over these operations. He had noted that the gigantic 
try-pots were bubbling over, the spermaceti stream¬ 
ing down the sides. “ Unship them hatches off the 
blubber-room,” he added, “ and stow the rest of that 
sparm below in them tuns!” 

117 


SEA PLUNDER 


With the aid of a wide funnel and a canvas hose, 
the remainder of the liquid was run into the huge 
casks stowed in the blubber-room. There, lacking 
even the body-heat still retained by the carcass of 
the dead bull, it cooled rapidly, coagulating into a 
clear, waxlike substance. Twenty-three barrels were 
thus bailed out, and Sherwood could not help con¬ 
cluding there must be even more in the case of the 
larger bull they themselves had captured. 

It was by now the usual hour of the second dog¬ 
watch (six o’clock); but all hands were still on 
deck, with no sign of either division being sent for¬ 
ward to eat. The lower limb of the sun was kissing 
the horizon and, in less than an hour, the whole 
disk of it would be sunk from sight and the world 
left in darkness. To Sherwood, who did not know 
they would work throughout the night, there seemed 
no time to lose, the try-works going full blast, 
the “ scraps ” of blubber burning with a fierce, 
steady flame, emitting little smoke and hardly a 
vestige of ash. 

“Haul up thet junk and bile it out!” came the 
order from the mate, once the case was cut adrift. 

The pyramid of white horse was hauled into the 
waist from the after lash rail and layer after drip¬ 
ping layer sliced off and passed into the try-pots. 
The four harpooners had all they could do to bail out 
the boiled sperm into the copper cooling-tank to 
starboard. 

“You’d better lay for’rd your watch, Mr. Car- 
thew,” called the skipper suddenly, “ and have them 
look sharp about their mess! It’ll be steady work 
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SEA PLUNDER 


for them till four bells of the fust watch,” he added. 

The starboard guard alone remained on deck. 
Captain Yardley was still intent on working up these 
men under Moseby and Petrie. But as they had 
been almost constantly busy since early morning, 
he realized he could not keep them slaving much 
longer without risking a slowing in their efforts 
through sheer exhaustion, and if there was one thing 
he would not suffer, it was slackening in the work. 

Therefore, when the port watch quickly returned 
to the darkening deck, he sent these starbowlines 
forward with orders to waste no precious moments 
snatching a smoke after their meal, but to pound 
their ears lively. 

“ You’ll be called at ten o’clock,” he said, “ and 
then it’ll be watch and watch, six hours on and six 
off, night and day, till all this grease is fried out and 
the gear once more cleaned, stopped up and stowed 
neat and snug below! Mr. Carthew,” he turned to 
the first mate, “ light cressets fore and aft!” 

Pans of sheet iron were stepped well forward and 
abaft the try-works and filled with ignited “ scraps ” 
which burned brilliantly, throwing a smoky glare 
over ship and sea. By this glare, work proceeded on 
the cutting up of the “ junk ” and when this was 
finished, there were inches of oil sloshing about the 
deck, being held from running into the sea by the 
plugs in the scupper-holes. 

“ Lay below now your blubber-room men, Mr. 
Carthew!” spoke up Yardley with a sly wink to the 
mate. “ And have some of the hands squilgee up 
this oil on deck and pour it into the try-pots.” 

119 


SEA PLUNDER 


Carthew attended to the last first, delegating Sher¬ 
wood and Jorgenson to the task of handling the 
rubber-clamped brooms. Then turning with a grin 
to the oil-smeared and innocent Harbottle, he 
shouted: 

“ You hear thar, Fauntleroy. You hear what the 
capt’n says! Blubber-room crew — that means you! 
And you’d better go below with him, Bart Collins, 
to show him the ropes!” 


120 


CHAPTER XIX 


Following the weazened gray-beard who had 
led the chanteying, Harbottle disappeared down the 
main hatch, squeezing into the blubber-room between 
the greasy layers of blankets and the tanks of 
spermaceti. It became his duty thereupon to cut the 
blankets into horse pieces, about eighteen inches 
long by six wide, and pass them up to the deck. 

“ Sounds easy,” he admitted, in explaining the 
details to Sherwood and Sam when he got below 
after ten o’clock that night. “ But it’s anything but! 
To begin with, there’s no chance of keeping on your 
feet even when the ship isn’t rolling. There’s a coat¬ 
ing of oil on the deck, inches thick, and I have to 
slip about in that burdened under those heavy 
blankets. 

“ Talk about walking on a polished hardwood 
floor! ” he exclaimed. “ This is like balancing on the 
greased back of a pig! And when the old barky 
quivers, not to speak of rolling, over you go slap 
against a chunk of fat, out gushes the oil at the 
pressure, and your mouth is filled, your eyes blinded 
and you’re soaked through and through! Just look 
at me now!” he ended glumly. 

Sherwood lifted his eyes from the business of 
rebandaging Sam’s leg. Harbottle was one sticky 
coat of grease from head to foot. 

“ Like taking a swim in oil, eh?” he could not 
121 


SEA PLUNDER 


help smiling. “ I overheard the skipper say it would 
be something like that.” 

“ Oh, that bucko’s working me up, as these 
bohunks call it!” said Harbottle bitterly. “ But 
it’s more like drowning in oil than any swim! It’s 
the darnedest, most hateful hazing I’ve ever experi¬ 
enced and I don’t know if I can hold out-” 

“ Sure you can! ” Sherwood tried to cheer him up. 
“ Look at me! I haven’t any lead-pipe cinch at that 
mincing machine; I can’t see where your job is so 
much worse! And there’s poor Sam here. Remem¬ 
ber he was asleep when we came below for supper?” 

Harbottle nodded, looking at the recumbent 
Islander as if wondering what could have happened 
to him. 

“ Well,” pursued Sherwood grimly, “ when Sam 
awoke refreshed, the fever thrown off, who should 
he see standing beside his bunk but the Old Man 
himself. He had stolen down to give Sam’s leg a 
cursory once-over, but mainly to make sure that 
the starboard watch had turned in without any loss 
of time. He didn’t even bother to remove the 
bandage, did he, Sam?” 

The Polynesian rolled his head from side to 
side. 

“ No,” he replied. “ He just asked how I felt.” 

“And you answered?” promptingly. 

“ Oh, that I felt much better, of course! ” 

“ And then what do you think that old buzzard 
said!” took up Sherwood. “Sam told me. ‘ Wal,’ 
says he, 1 1 guess you’ll be able to turn to with your 
watch tomorrow mornin’ after sleepin’ so good this 
122 



SEA PLUNDER 


day and night! I’ll pick somethin’ soft for you, 
but I can’t spare you nor no one else below durin’ 
this b’ilin’ business!’ So you should kick, Har- 
bottle,” he went on, “ when a fellow with a game 
leg like Sam has to go to work with us before dawn. 
Just keep a stiff upper lip, Weymore, and it’ll all be 
over in a couple of weeks-” 

“Couple of weeks! Good Lord, Sherwood, you 
don’t mean-” 

“ Why, yes; at least a fortnight, I heard Carthew 
say. Remember we’ve only just started on this whale 
and, after that’s cleared up, we’ll have to tackle that 
cow and whopping big bull Portalegre captured.” 

“ But I can’t stand it, Neil!” declared the other. 
“ I know I can’t stand it that long. Two weeks, 
fourteen days, floating in oil all the time, eating 
it. Say, didn’t you get the taste of it in every mouth¬ 
ful you took tonight?” 

Sherwood nodded and, his services to Sam com¬ 
pleted, rose to his feet. 

“ But you may be relieved before then,” he pur¬ 
sued brightly. “ I know Bart Collins, that old sea 
dog, will get some one to spell him below after a 
while and, perhaps when he is sent on deck, if you 
work up to snuff, the Old Man may relent and ship 
me or — or even Sam down into the blubber-room as 
your relief!” 

It was an idea none too choice, but forced out of 
Sherwood by his desire to encourage the whining 
hapa haole. What surprised him, however, was that 
Harbottle did not show the common decency of 
objecting to it — of refusing to sacrifice a fellow 
123 




SEA PLUNDER 


man to his particular hell in order to win out of it 
himself. 

Instead the senator looked away, nodded to him¬ 
self. When he returned his gaze, the astonished 
newspaperman could not help noting that his eyes 
were half-closed as with introspective calculation. 

“ Well, I’ll try and hang on,” he said. “ I’ll play 
the good dog to that bucko and see what comes of 
it. Only I haven’t much hope,” he hastened to add, 
then nervously began stripping off his oil-saturated 
outer garments. 

For long after Harbottle had turned in, Sherwood 
remained seated on the edge of his own berth, look¬ 
ing over at the gloom of the senator’s bunk opposite. 
What had the wily hapa haole in mind, he wondered, 
that he should become so suddenly fidgety and cal- 
culative. Was he really going to take his advice 
seriously and maneuver to have him, or even the 
injured Sam, spell him below? 

But Sherwood did not puzzle his brains long on 
this score. Indeed, he was too wearied to think, 
almost dropping off to sleep as he sat there on the 
edge of his berth, for he had worked that day as 
he had worked only once before in his life. That 
was in the army during the Great War and, oddly 
enough, the oil gluing his clothes to his body re¬ 
minded him poignantly of those days of slush and 
cannonading and heavy packs upon the back. 

What he had never realized before, however, was 
that in this twentieth century, in the ordinary pur¬ 
suit of bread and butter, men could and did slave 
so hard. His arms ached from incessantly lifting and 
124 


SEA PLUNDER 


bearing down on the knife of the mincing machine, 
and there was a dull pain at the base of his spine 
from wrestling with the weighty horse pieces of 
blubber. As he had well said, his job at the mincing 
machine was no lead-pipe cinch! 

The machine had been erected in a wide wooden 
trough or hopper on the port side of the try-works 
near the main hatch. After the blankets were cut 
into oblong sections by Collins and his unwilling 
helper, these sections or horse pieces were passed up 
to the trough and fed by Sherwood into the mincing 
machine in order, by further slicing, to expedite 
the freeing of the oil in the boiling process. 

The machine itself was something like a buzz 
saw, excepting that its knife did not rotate and 
besides did not cut the horse pieces through and 
through. It would be better to say it was like a 
cheese cutter which only deeply scored the blubber, 
leaving a thin rind retaining the slices together, so 
that later, when the oil had been tried out, the whole 
shriveled strip might be handled conveniently in one 
piece as a fritter for fuel. 

Before dawn the next morning, having been below 
their allotted six hours, the larbowlines, including 
the limping Sam, were turned out, and the starboard 
watch bundled forward. It was a strange and eery 
sensation to Sherwood to come on deck, in this 
darkest ebb of the night, and find the ship lighted, 
from stem to stern, by the blaze of try-works and 
cressets. He could plainly see the crow’s nests above 
the close-reefed topsails and, in the glare over the 
water, the sharks attacking the huge shadowy bulks 
125 


SEA PLUNDER 


of the whales towing alongside. It even struck him 
to detach himself from the ship and wonder what 
the sight might look like were he miles off and saw 
it blazing. 

“ Come a-runnin’, you slackers!” encouraged the 
yelling voice of Mr. Portalegre, breaking in on his 
detachment. He could see the bearded mate waiting 
beside the cheese-cutter to superintend the mincing. 

Others of the afterguard of the watch had pre¬ 
ceded them on deck and he could make out McLellan 
and another harpooner (Reynolds of Mr. Carthew’s 
boat) dancing like twin devils in attendance on the 
try-pots, bailing out the oil left boiling by the other 
watch and hastily pitchforking minced blubber into 
the vats from the rapidly emptying hopper. 

Mr. Carthew himself set Sam to assisting Sher¬ 
wood at the mincing machine. It was not such a 
hard job, though it did entail that Sam should 
remain standing upon his bruised and tender leg for 
the whole six hours of his watch. But all he had 
to do in the way of work was to hold the horse 
pieces and slide them forward, while Sherwood di¬ 
rected the operations of the knife and, in the slang 
of whalers, “ cut Bible-leaves.” 

Mr. Carthew paced the deck near at hand. He 
thus took the place of the skipper who, after his 
day of general supervision, was no doubt snoring as 
blissfully aft in the cabin as if he had worked as 
hard as any of “ the people.” 

Certainly Ham Yardley was losing no sleep 
through fear of being run down. He knew he was in 
the great circle track of steamers plying between 
126 


SEA PLUNDER 


Seattle and Sydney via Honolulu and the Gilberts. 
He realized, on the other hand, that the old blubber- 
boat showed up like a beacon of danger through the 
night. And pressing the work as he was, allowing 
no one to shirk or stay below, not even the injured 
Sam, he spared no man now at helm or lookout. 

Therefore, as a complete surprise, came that long- 
drawn hail out of the darkness beyond the radius of 
the flares: 

“ Whaleship ahoy! Help! ” 

The harpooners dropped their devil-forks and 
skimmers with tinny rattle. Mr. Carthew almost 
choked on the suddenly sucked-in ends of his mous¬ 
tache. It was weird, that hail out of the night. 
Sherwood paused with uplifted mincing-knife to 
gaze at Sam. Then, followed by the limping Islander, 
he made for the starboard rail in the crush of the 
rest of the watch. 

Nosing into the circle of cresset light showed 
the dim white of a lifeboat. There were three dark 
figures of men working the oars. Although one wore 
the white-topped cap of a ship’s officer, they all 
seemed most lubberly at the task, for the blades 
splashed heavily in the swells, there was no con¬ 
certed pulling and, even as the port guard lined the 
rail, they saw two of the oars snarl together, while 
the third caught a crab, in the sea phrase, and was 
wrenched out of the hands of the officer in the cap 
and went drifting away on the oily back of a wave. 

This fellow, in the bow, wobbled feebly up upon 
the foredeck and, as the lifeboat drew toward the 
cutting-stage, made a grab for it before it was quite 
127 


SEA PLUNDER 


within reach. He missed, his cap falling into the 
sea and himself almost toppling over the low gun¬ 
wale into the mouths of the sharks who were streak¬ 
ing the bright, filmy water, in fright, with their dorsal 
fins. Steadying himself, the boat heaving closer, 
he managed to grip the outermost plank and hold 
on, while the tiny foredeck beneath his feet lifted 
and plunged in the swells. 

“ Git overside, all of you!” shouted Carthew, col¬ 
lecting his wits at this and leaping into action. 
“ Lend a hand below thar! You, Samson, rouse up 
the skipper. Lively, everybody. Don’t you see 
those fellers are all in! There’s bin a wreck som’eres 
and — holy hookey! they’ve got a woman with ’em!” 


128 


CHAPTER XX 


Surely enough, at a motion from the bareheaded 
officer in the bow, the two tottering fellows in the 
waist were attempting to lift up a bundle of white 
off the bottom boards. Sherwood was overside in 
a twinkling, sliding down one of the cables from the 
main rigging that held up the staging. He was in 
time, kneeling upon that outermost plank, to receive 
the precious bundle of womanhood from the arms of 
the exhausted men. 

She was unconscious, probably due to lack of food 
and water during the time the small boat had been 
adrift. From the haggard look of the three crew¬ 
men and their stumbling movements, they must have 
been several days at sea. A bit of tarpaulin had 
been thrown over the girl as she lay on the bottom 
boards, but this had fallen off in lifting her up. She 
wore only a white fleecy dress and a man’s Norfolk 
coat, over which about her waist a bulky life jacket 
had been fastened. She lay back in Sherwood’s arms, 
her eyes closed amid dark weary rings, her fine nose 
pinched at the nostrils, her small lips drawn and 
white and her blond hair in disarray over her shoul¬ 
ders. 

Others of the port watch walking before and be¬ 
hind Sherwood, their hands out, safeguarded his 
steps along the thwartship plank. It was remark¬ 
able, the change in these rough, grease-coated men. 
Their voices appeared to have softened, there was 
129 


SEA PLUNDER 


no unseemly talk or boorish manners; they did not 
even seek to peer into the face of the unconscious 
girl. All their thoughts and efforts were bent on 
helping and, to this end, several of them formed 
chairs of their clasped hands for the three crewmen 
and, walking precariously by twos along the nar¬ 
row plank, followed after Sherwood, the arms of the 
exhausted sailors about their necks. 

“ Pass her up here,” came the gruff tones of Cap¬ 
tain Yardley. He stood at the bulwark in red flannel 
undershirt and trousers, a tin cup in his hand. “ Stow 
that orficer in my steward’s old bunk down in the 
steerage, and them other two for’rd. Here, Mr. 
Carthew, take this pannikin of brandy and dole it 
out. It’ll bring those fellers around; they’re no 
more than played out. 

“ But step lively, men!” he added. “ Swing that 
lifeboat up on deck and throw that piece of tar¬ 
paulin over it to protect it from this mess of ile. 
Later, you kin lash it up on top of the gallows. Mr. 
Portalegre, take charge of the b’iling naow and 
pipe the word to the cook to shake up the galley fire 
and prepare some hot chow. And come along thar, 
Curly Locks,” to Sherwood, relieving him of his 
feminine burden, “ you kin act as steward for the 
time bein’ and lend a hand with the lady. The rest 
of you turn to! ” 

Following the waddling form of the captain, who 
now carried the unconscious girl, the surprised Sher¬ 
wood made down the companion and along the dim 
alleyway, flanked by the doors of lockers and state¬ 
rooms. The cabin beyond was lighted by a gimbal 
130 


SEA PLUNDER 


lamp swinging over a table of polished koa wood in 
the center. Upon the cushions of the transom be¬ 
neath the square ports to either side of the stern- 
post, Captain Yardley laid the girl, then turned in 
helplessness to Neil. 

“ What’ll we do now, Curly?” he asked. “ Me, 
I don’t know much about rescuin’ ladies at sea, for 
all my years at sailorizin’! ” 

“ The same thing you did for the men, sir,” sug¬ 
gested Sherwood. “ A shot of brandy would be just 
about what a doctor would prescribe.” 

He leaned over the girl, as he spoke, loosening 
the life belt from about her waist. The skipper 
watched nervously as though fearful of some par¬ 
ticular clumsiness; then veered on his heel and 
disappeared into his room to draw the required 
liquor. 

Sherwood propped up the girl with an arm about 
her Norfolk jacket, while Yardley put the crockery 
cup to her white, drawn lips and let a few drops 
of the liquor trickle into her mouth. Her throat 
began to vibrate like a bird’s; she gasped, choked, 
and, at last, with a shudder, opened her eyes. 

“ It’s all right,” said Neil softly, patting her gently 
on the shoulder. “ You’re no longer in that life¬ 
boat, but safe aboard ship and among friends. Now 
don’t worry!” as tears began to gather in her hazel 
eyes. “ You’re getting along scrumptious and every¬ 
thing will turn out fine and dandy. Here, drink this, 
please!” and he offered the crockery cup still partly 
filled with brandy. 

But she pressed his hand aside, sat stark upright. 

131 


SEA PLUNDER 


Her eyes raced from him to the captain in a wild, 
fluttering distress. The skipper had been watching 
Sherwood in dumb wonder. Now, with her dis¬ 
tended eyes upon him, he seemed to become aware 
of his red flannel undershirt, his long arms and 
unshaven, scarred face. It was enough to frighten 
any woman, particularly with those swaying yellow 
beams from the lamp casting strange high lights and 
shadows. He felt thoroughly uncomfortable and 
began to shift from leg to leg. 

“ It’s all right, ma’m, as Curly says,” and his voice 
boomed through the cabin for all his attempt to 
soften it. “ You’re among friends and safe as in 
a choich!” 

“ But my father!” she exclaimed. “ Has he been 
saved — is his boat here — do you know?” 

“ He was one of them three with you, ma’m; the 
one in the cap, no doubt?” 

But she shook her head violently, the long blond 
hair sweeping her shoulders. 

“ No, no; that was the mate, Mr. Kroderen. The 
others are sailors. My father-” 

“ But please,” interrupted Sherwood, seeking to 
make her forget her anxiety by simply ignoring her 
questions — “ please drink this. It will do you 
good.” 

She looked at him sitting there beside her and 
she was startled for all her hysteria, so marked was 
the contrast between his voice and the bull-throated 
tones of the skipper. He smiled slowly, encourag¬ 
ingly, and once again proffered the cup. She lifted 
it to her lips. 


132 



SEA PLUNDER 


“ Could you eat something now?” he asked, as 
she finished draining the liquor. 

“ Just a little water!” was her surprising answer. 
“ Could — could I have some water?” 

She asked the question as though begging some 
especial boon. But Sherwood realized it was not 
because of any sudden thirst induced by the fiery 
brandy. She must have been without drinking water 
for some time, he perceived, and therefore to her 
feverish brain it had become an object desirable 
out of all normal proportion. He took the cup 
from her hand and passed it to Captain Yardley, 
who quickly returned with it brimming over with the 
precious fluid. 

“ Could you eat somethin’ now?” he repeated and, 
as she drank eagerly, he went on to suggest: “ Some 
soft-boiled eggs, say, and a little toast and perhaps 
a pot of warm tea?” 

She nodded as in a dream and again, in swift 
compliance, Yardley leaped out of the cabin and 
up the companionway. His nimble errand-running 
was more the duty of his newly appointed steward 
than any skipper’s. But in another moment, Sher¬ 
wood could hear him reasserting his authority, roar¬ 
ing the order at Doc Limey with an admonition, in 
real afterguard language, “ to shake it up lively!” 

“ You’d better lie down a while,” he said to the 
girl and, fixing one of the cushions as a pillow for 
her head, he sat in the captain’s armchair along¬ 
side her. She lay back, staring wide-eyed at the 
ceiling but breathing more easily. 

When Captain Yardley reappeared, he wore, under 
133 


SEA PLUNDER 


a hastily donned claw-hammer coat, a clean white 
shirt and, most outre , a red necktie! Sherwood 
looked at him in a mixture of feelings, hardly know¬ 
ing whether to laugh or cry; then slowly his eyes 
dropped to his own oily garments and he began a 
minute inspection of his untended nails. 

“ Curly,” said the uncomfortable skipper, “ you’d 
better rustle up some clean sheets and pillow slips 
for my bunk. I’m givin’ up my stateroom to the 
young lady,” in explanation, “ and arter she’s done 
eatin’, she’ll prob’ly want to turn in thar. You’ll 
find the linen-locker the third door off the alley to 
starboard.” 

Sherwood left the cabin, just as Doc Limey 
appeared on the companion-ladder carrying a tray 
of food. 

“ Bunk all made up, sir,” he reported back to the 
captain a few minutes later. 

He observed, from the remains of food on the 
polished surface of the table, that the girl had eaten 
but little. Apparently she had gone so long without 
nutriment she had lost the keen edge of hunger and 
practically forgotten what it was to eat! She had 
barely nibbled at the toast and eggs, although she 
did appear to have enjoyed the warming tea. She 
looked much refreshed, her hazel eyes glowing a 
deeper brown. 

“ You kin turn in, now, any time you please, 
ma’m,” said Yardley; and as the girl, in ready 
acquiescence, got to her feet, he helped to assist 
her. “ I’ll finish my snooze on them transom 
cushions, but you needn’t fear, ma’m!” he hastily 
134 


SEA PLUNDER 


added, noting the uncertain wavering of her eyes. 
“ There’s a key on the inside of that stateroom door, 
though it may be rusty and work hard, so seldom 
havin’ bin used.” 


135 


CHAPTER XXI 


The next day, while the girl kept to the skipper’s 
stateroom and recovered from her exhaustion, Sher¬ 
wood went about in happy mood. But it was not so 
much the presence of this young, unknown woman 
aboard which elated him. Often, of course, in pass¬ 
ing the skipper’s door, he was struck to wonder about 
her: who she could be, what was the wreck of which 
she was a victim, how she had come to be down in 
these lonely seas, what she must have suffered before 
gaining the sorry haven of the Ballenas1 

But, in the main, he felt like singing because of an 
utterly different and more selfish reason. This was 
his unexpected release from the oily duties on deck. 
True, he had no more than been initiated into the 
trying-out process, but that first taste had proved 
enough to satiate him with the whole business and 
make him now all the more appreciative of his pres¬ 
ent soft berth. 

Captain Yardley found himself unable to sleep 
upon the cushioned transom because of the sunlight 
streaming through the square ports into his eyes 
and, early that morning, he took Sherwood in hand 
to show him his new duties. He had doffed the old- 
fashioned claw-hammer coat for his usual pea-jacket. 
And he explained to Neil that he was supposed, as 
the steward, to keep all the cabin plates and pots 
in “ apple-pie ” condition and lend a hand to Doc 
Limey with the steerage mess, particularly in the 
136 


SEA PLUNDER 


matter of furnishing dainties that were not included 
on the bill of fare for such as the foremast crew. 
Then he shoved the koa table to one side and lifted 
a small circular hatch out of the cabin deck. 

“ Look below thar,” he instructed. “ That’s the 
ship’s run where all the fodder for my table and 
them extras for the afterguard is stored.” 

Sherwood, peering down into the dimness, could 
make out on the sloping deck bags of sugar, crates 
of canned vegetables, meat and condensed milk, 
and flails of tea and gunny sacks of coffee of a finer 
grade than that usually served to the fo’c’s’le. 

He could not help recalling, as he looked, those 
fo’c’s’le meals: corned willy, hard-tack and coffee 
without milk or sugar, for breakfast; bean or pea 
soup, skouse or corned-beef stew for lunch; and 
again for supper, slices of the inevitable salt horse, 
hard-tack and tea sweetened with longlick or 
molasses. That was a red-letter day when they had 
been served pancakes! 

“ You’re in sole charge of all that,” continued 
Yardley, “ not even Doc Limey havin’ any right to 
go below thar. If he wants anything for the steer¬ 
age mess, it’s up to you to go git it for him. But 
now I’ve told you all I kin, you’d better look in 
on the doctor for further hints.” 

Doc Limey had many suggestions for Sherwood, 
some of which Neil could not help but surmise were 
for the doctor’s especial benefit in conserving his 
own labors in the galley. For instance, Sherwood 
having had actual whaling experience and being 
therefore more of a big-fish hunter than himself, the 
137 


SEA PLUNDER 


cockney thought he should go down on the cutting- 
stage and harpoon a shark in order that they might 
cut off the skin of the man-eater and use it in patches 
as a sort of sandpaper to scour the pots and pans! 
Naturally he backed up this suggestion with the 
statement that the former steward had been in the 
habit of doing just so. 

Indeed, little had Sherwood thought, in witnessing 
that poor steward being chuted into the sea, that 
such a “ bleedin’ fine ” fisherman had been lost to 
the Ballenas. But such, in the words of Mr. Bow 
Bells, was the “ honest-to-Gawd ” truth! Always 
he had kept a baited hook and line trailing in their 
wake from the taffrail, or from an open transom 
port when the weather permitted. He had caught 
bonitos for the cabin table, “ a whoppin’ mess of 
’em and once he had hooked a dolphin which had 
changed colors in dying, still according to the, cook, 
“ from bloo to green, then to mildewy gold and 
fin’lly to gray like slate!” 

“ A’ coz, you never knew this,” explained Doc 
Limey in covering up, “ becoz we don’t sarve enny 
of ’em to them fo’c’s’le horgs! They was all for 
the cabin tyble, though sometimes when hit was a 
’eapin’ big ketch, Hi managed to git a bit down to 
the steerage mess. But hit’s wise you should do 
all this to keep on the right side of that narsty 
bounder, Yardley! 

“ ‘E’s tyken quite a fawncy to you, Yardley,” he 
went on. “ Me, Hi never knew the bloody blighter 
to tyke so to enny man! And Hi’m jest givin’ you 
a hint of his tystes as bechoon chummies. ’E jest 
138 


SEA PLUNDER 


loves porpoises, 'e does; calls 'em fat porkers; and 
you kin 'arpoon them 'most enny noon from the 
forepeak when they’re rollin’ and tumblin' in packs 
round the bows. Then sea-pigs myke fine eatin’ 
like prime roast beef! 

“ But turtle soup, that's Yardley's weakness and 
shyme! Some time you’ll see them whoppers sun- 
nin' theirselves on the su'face, and then it’ll be up 
to you, my jack-puddin', to lower a boat, drop a 
'arpoon crashin’ through their shell, and flop 'em 
aboard. Yardley jest raves about turtle soup and 
same’s by Hi’m thinkin' that putty young loidy 
would fawncy it, too, and think mighty big of the 
guy what ketched them!" 

He would have gone on about the girl, but Sher¬ 
wood had endured enough of his subtlety. It was 
late afternoon, by then, and he thought of making 
forward to see how Sam was getting along with his 
game leg. But what was his surprise, on reaching 
the foredeck, to find the big Islander gaily enter¬ 
taining most of the port watch as they awaited their 
call to return to duty! 

In the calm of the sunset, flying fish were streak¬ 
ing over the ship's bow, fluttering their webbed side- 
fins like the wings of birds, and curving and zigzag¬ 
ging like bits of animated silver. Some of them, 
more worn out than they probably realized from the 
constant pursuit of the bonitos, missed their in¬ 
stinctive calculation of distance and fell flopping 
and flouncing on the blistering foredeck. And then 
it was that Sam would leap for them, grab them wrig¬ 
gling in his huge brown hands and exultingly shout- 
139 


SEA PLUNDER 


ing, “ Flying feesh! ” gulp them down raw, to the 
amazement and crude delight of the idlers. 

It shocked Sherwood like an exhibition of can¬ 
nibalism but, on second thought, he realized that 
Sam was only making a boyish display of a natural 
dish of his fish-loving people. All through the Sea 
Isles, he knew, the Polynesians esteem raw flying 
fish as a great delicacy, though they usually eat it 
dipped in lime juice. But what could not escape him 
was the lack of attention Sam gave his approach; 
there seemed a perceptible withdrawal from him in 
the Kanaka’s attitude. 

“ How’s your leg standing the gaff?” he asked, 
paying this disregard little heed. “ Let’s see it, big 
boy.” 

Sam pulled up one trouser-leg and Sherwood 
gently prodded the fine-muscled calf through the 
bandage. It was a bit swollen from the strain of 
standing upon it, but there was no other ill effect 
and he felt sure the swelling would decrease in time. 

He was surprised, on looking up, however, to note 
the expression in those liquid brown eyes. The 
simple-natured fellow was dumbly thankful for 
Sherwood’s solicitude and his former remote atti¬ 
tude completely melted away. 

“ I thought you were glad to leave me, She’wood,” 
he explained sheepishly. “ And I feared most of all 
you liked this new flunky job of yourn. But that 
ain’t no work for a sailor,” shaking his head. 
“ You’re too good a man, She’wood, to act as the 
skipper’s waiter!” 

“ But there’s the girl, Sammy,” Neil reminded him. 

140 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Perhaps my being in the cabin will help her out, 
save her from any harm and make the days less 
monotonous while she's aboard. And besides, I’ll 
be able to smuggle forward to you a few dainties, 
particularly greens and sugar!” And as he thought 
again of the difference between fo’c’s’le diet and 
cabin mess, he felt just the reverse of being reduced 
and humbled by his new billet. 

The girl appeared at the cabin table, that eve¬ 
ning. The dinner consisted of a fry of flying fish, 
for Sherwood had profited by Sam’s antics to the 
extent of securing a bucket from the galley and 
collecting the fish floundering helplessly on the deck. 
After dinner the girl succumbed to Yardley’s awk¬ 
ward leading and, between sobs and distraught 
pauses, told her story, what there was of it. 

Her name was Clare O’Brine. Her father, Clif¬ 
ford O’Brine, was the traveling auditor for the 
Turner-MacKenzie Trading and Plantation Com¬ 
pany of Sydney. She was accompanying him in his 
annual rounds of their island stations when their 
schooner had been wrecked. 

They had touched at Fanning Island, which the 
Turner-MacKenzie Company had but recently pur¬ 
chased from its former owner, Father Pierre Roussel, 
the French Catholic missionary. The island had 
quite a romantic history, the girl digressed, having 
been deeded to the priest by a man he had befriended 
while the fellow was a convict in the French penal 
settlement at Noumea. After gaining his release, 
the convict had inherited a huge fortune and vast 
estates from a deceased uncle, the erstwhile manu- 
141 


SEA PLUNDER 


facturer of a celebrated brand of French chocolates. 
Fanning Island happened to be one of these proper¬ 
ties because its cocoanuts were very useful in the 
candy business. On account of the worthy mission¬ 
ary, his benefactor, being stationed permanently in 
the Pacific, the former convict had given him the 
island for his very own. 

But the trading company had only been con¬ 
cerned with its colorful history in so far as it affected 
their title to the place. They had instructed O’Brine 
to look over the books kept by the agent of the 
missionary in order to determine whether they 
should follow out Father Pierre’s request and retain 
the man in their employ. Also, though the company, 
in buying the island, had naturally inspected it, they 
would appreciate, they told O’Brine, a second report 
from such a valued and capable employee as himself. 

Their trading schooner Taritari had, unfortu¬ 
nately, not been fitted with a wireless, the girl said. 
But the cable between Vancouver and Sydney via 
Suva has a landing and station on Fanning Island, 
so her father was thus enabled to get into direct 
communication with the home office. 

He recommended that the priest’s agent be con¬ 
tinued on their salary roll, as requested by Father 
Roussel, and she further recalled that he made 
definite report of the resources as he had found 
them on the island — speaking of the guano as of 
inferior quality, of the pearl oysters as rather small 
in size, but particularly of the copra which, he 
thought, with up-to-date methods, might be exported 
in profitable quantities. 

142 


SEA PLUNDER 


In return, he had received added instructions 
from the home office in regard to Jaluit, their main 
station in the Marshalls and his next port of call but 
one. He was to proceed to the guano station on 
the Johnston Islands and thence down to Jaluit at 
the southern extremity of the Ralik Chain. 

But here, at Jaluit, he was to give his attention 
not so much to the books of the post as to the efforts 
and enterprise of the Nipponese Trading Company 
which, since the Versailles Treaty and the resultant 
mandate of Japan over the Marshalls, had started in 
to compete with them on a large and, if anything, 
more modern scale. 

They were well on their way to the Johnstons 
when the dry gale had swept down upon them, driv¬ 
ing them several hundred miles to westward of their 
course. In the inky blackness of the second night, 
out there in mid-ocean, the Taritari had struck upon 
a shoal with a terrific grinding of her keel plates! 

Clare O’Brine, asleep in her berth, had been flung 
inboard against the bulkhead. With the sharp list¬ 
ing of the schooner to port, that bulkhead then 
occupied much the former level held by the berth 
itself. She had huddled upon it, the bedclothes 
tumbled about her, while her ears were assailed by 
that hideous scrunching, the shouts of the meager 
crew, and the thunder of those waves smashing at 
the high starboard side of the shuddering ship! 


143 


CHAPTER XXII 


A pounding at the door of her stateroom caused 
her to collect her wits. She could hear her father’s 
voice calling her, and she realized he was attempting 
to open the locked door. Over the oblique bunk 
and up the slant of deck, she crawled, toward that 
door fairly above her head. But even after the key 
had clicked in the lock, the door remained jammed 
tight. 

“ Stand aside, Clare!” she heard her father shout. 
“And put something on, anything! The ship’s 
pounding to pieces!” 

She must have become more excited than she 
realized at that information, for all she had the pres¬ 
ence of mind to don over her nightrobe was the 
white chiffon dress she had worn at dinner that 
evening and laid aside on a chair. She was feeling 
about in the darkness for shoes and stockings, when 
she heard the huskier tones of Captain Wainwright, 
saying: 

“ Now, together!” 

There was a dull thud and rending sound from 
the panels, and the door swung inboard, spilling 
the captain and her father down in a tangle against 
the bunk. But they were on their feet in an instant, 
Captain Wainwright asking her where she was in 
the darkness, begging her not to lose any time, and 
her father cheering her up with the statement that 
it was not so cold outside, only windy, and pleading 
144 


SEA PLUNDER 


with her to grab up the rest of her wraps, she could 
dress more fully in the boat, later. 

Thus, garbed only in that thin white dress, her 
retrieved slippers and stockings in her hands, she 
was half carried, half guided along the canted, 
windswept deck between her father and the skipper. 
She remembered her father doffing his own Norfolk 
jacket and putting it about her shoulders, and the 
captain saying they would have to go round to the 
submerged port side because the starboard lifeboat 
was useless with the careening of the schooner and 
the smashing of the seas against that board. 

“ PH have to get my books, Clare,” her father said 
to her, “ and then I’ll put off in the skipper’s boat 
with Wainwright and two of the crew.” 

That meant they were to be separated, but before 
she could grasp this, she was sharply startled by 
stepping full into water. She cried out with fright 
and the chill and her father lifted her up in his arms 
and, safeguarded by the skipper, waded with her 
toward the port lifeboat. 

Here, on the submerged port board, there was no 
need to lower the lifeboat from the davits. The 
water was up so high the boat was afloat, though 
still held by the falls. Wading thigh-deep, her 
father deposited her in the craft, which was manned 
by two of the four members of the crew and in 
charge of Mr. Kroderen, the mate. 

“ Shove off!” cried Captain Wainwright immedi¬ 
ately, and he gave the nose of the boat a push out¬ 
ward. “ Cut those falls, Kroderen. Do you want 
to be swept high and dry inboard? And run before 
145 


SEA PLUNDER 


the wind, sir; there’s no chance of us keeping to¬ 
gether!” 

Clare recollected calling upon her father to come 
with her. Then, with the realization that he must 
remain behind for the skipper’s boat, which was 
slung over the stern, something seemed to snap 
in her head and she slumped down in a dead faint. 

When she came to, it was morning and there 
appeared to be a lull in the gale. She was sur¬ 
prised to find that her slippers and stockings had 
been drawn over her feet and a life preserver belted 
about the Norfolk jacket. A strip of tarpaulin was 
thrown over her knees. 

At her movement, Mr. Kroderen, the mate, gave 
over the stern steering sweep to one of the men 
and offered her a drink from the boat’s water- 
breaker. 

“ I’m sorry, miss,” he apologized, “ but the best 
I can offer you in the way of eats is some moldy 
biscuit. We have a keg of ’em aboard and, accordin’ 
to regulations, they should be in prime condition, 
but instead they’re soggy and chock-full of weevils! 
Your father oughta report this to the comp’ny fust 
chance, ma’m; but meantime, they’re better’n noth¬ 
ing at all!” 

Mention of her father reminded Clare poignantly 
of their separation, and she lifted up to look over 
the gunwale at the yeasty Pacific. There was naught 
else in sight and she cried out in anguish. 

For the rest of the day, no matter from what direc¬ 
tion the gale squalled up, they ran before it. Accord¬ 
ing also to maritime regulations, the lifeboat was 
146 


SEA PLUNDER 


furnished with a compass, but it proved out of 
order and they could judge neither the shiftings 
of the wind nor the headings pursued by the boat. 
They made no doubt, however, that they were being 
buffeted about pretty much in a wide circle. But 
even had they been able to set a course with the 
aid of the erratic needle, Kroderen frankly admitted 
they could not hope to maintain it in those racing 
seas. 

That night, fortunately, the gale blew itself out 
and the seas died down, and the men laid to their 
oars with a will, though they knew not where they 
were nor whither they were heading. But they 
started off in what they thought was a nor’eastward 
direction in the blind chance of raising the Johnstons. 
Kroderen remembered that the shoal upon which 
the Taritari had struck, had been marked, on the 
schooner’s chart, not more than two hundred miles 
from the islets. 

The next day, though, found them drifting in a 
torpor. The sky above was a vault of brass; the 
sea, one empty, heaving, dread expanse, girded by 
wavering horizon. The sun’s rays positively 
scorched their bodies, and the shriveled air seemed 
filled with a salty dryness they could taste on the 
ends of their tongues. They drank as sparingly as 
they could of the water-breaker; but they were inor¬ 
dinately thirsty and by high noon, for all their stint¬ 
ing, it was drained of the last drop. 

Thus the night found them gnawing greedily at 
the weevily hard-tacks, which up to then had claimed 
but scant consideration. They all sighted that red 
147 


SEA PLUNDER 


glow flaring smokily athwart the sky, far off; but 
because of their exhaustion, it was moments before 
any one spoke. 

“ Either that’s a burnin’ steamer or a whaleship,” 
commented Kroderen at last, with noticeable abstrac¬ 
tion. But he seemed trying to rouse himself. “ Let’s 
head for it, men,” he said, “ in the chance of it 
bein’ the bug-light of a blubber-boat! But no matter 
what it turns out to be,” he added, as if in fear of 
raising false hopes, “ it oughta prove as good a 
p’inter as any Nor’ Star!” And he boated his steer¬ 
ing sweep leisurely and started to pull stroke for 
the others. 

Gradually, their lethargic blood circulating with 
the work and that beacon slowly brightening into a 
tangible incentive, they came more and more to 
themselves until, in time, they were pulling lustily. 
For most of the night, it was stroke! stroke! with 
a pleasant rippling coming up from the cutwater 
and, all the while, the swash of the sea along the 
bilge. 

The rest Captain Yardley and his steward knew 
even better than she did herself, Clare ended, with 
a little smile; for in the joy and inexpressible relief 
of overhauling the Ballenas, she once again fainted. 

“ Wal,” drawled Yardley in answer to her smile, 
“ we was in that gale ourselves, warn’t we, Curly? 
On’y it wasn’t no dry gale, miss, not so you could 
notice it. It rained plenty, I reckerlect; but I guess 
by the time it got over to you, ma’m, it had lost 
all its moisture. But where did you say that shoal 
was, miss?” sharply. 


148 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ I don’t think I said,” she replied, “ and I 
wouldn’t be able to tell you even now, only I re¬ 
member Mr. Kroderen and Carlin, one of the hands, 
had an argument about it in the boat. Carlin is 
the sailor with the blue navy work-jumper over his 
shirt,” she explained, “ and I recall Mr. Kroderen 
telling him that the place was mentioned in the 
notes on page 1034 of Findlay’s as c a shoal from a 
whaler’s report.’ Mr. Kroderen also said it was 
marked down on the schooner’s chart, but none of 
this would Carlin believe. The mate seemed pretty 
sure of its position, however, quoting the latitude and 
longitude several times.” 

“ And do you reckerlect what they was?” pressed 
the skipper strangely, while Sherwood studied him 
in uncomprehending bewilderment. 

She nodded, knuckling her white forehead. 

“ Latitude thirteen degrees something and longi¬ 
tude one-seventy and a fraction.” 

Captain Yardley chuckled at her unseamanlike 
answer, and got clumsily afoot. 

“ Nor’ and west?” he paused to query. 

“ I believe so,” she nodded again. 

He stepped over to a chest of drawers against one 
bulkhead. Sherwood watched him, sudden discern¬ 
ment tightening his eyes. Pulling out one of the 
drawers, Yardley bent over and, mumbling to him¬ 
self, began thumbing through the charts therein. 

It was the steward’s opportunity, the skipper, thus 
busily engaged, his back to them. 

“ Ask him what he’s going to do about you!” he 
whispered hastily to the girl. “ These questions are 
149 


SEA PLUNDER 


only a ruse to put you on the defensive, I believe, 
so you won’t get suspicious of him-” 

He paused as the captain turned sharply about, 
a chart and a pair of parallel rulers in his hands. 
The girl’s mouth was open, on the point of asking 
him a question; she dimpled, instead, into a smile 
for the skipper as he came toward them. 

“ Here it is,” said Yardley; “ the govamint chart 
of the Nor’ Pacific, Sheet Three. If that shoal’s 
known, it’ll be sure to be marked on this.” 

He moved the dishes on the koa table to one side 
and, spreading out the chart, bent over it, his back 
once more to them. 

“ Ask him! ” Sherwood framed with his lips, 
though he made no sound. She gave a stiff little 
nod, thanking him with her velvety eyes. 


150 



CHAPTER XXIII 


“ Ah, sure enuff, here it is!” exclaimed Yardley. 
He was spreading out the parallel rulers. “ Lati- 
toode thirteen degrees, thirty minutes nor’, longi- 
toode one-seventy and thirty west. You sure was 
blown off your course, ma’m. But looket, miss, and 
you too, Curly!” 

They both got afoot and stepped up to either side 
of him. He was indicating, with a blunt, dirt- 
pocked finger, a speck on the chart marked: “ Shoal 
(E D).” 

“ What does the ‘E D’ stand for, sir?” quizzed 
Sherwood, to give the girl time to collect her wits 
and think up her question. 

“ Existence Doubtful, Curly. But it’s no longer 
doubtful to you, eh, ma’m?” with a chuckle. “ You 
l’arned of its existence on’y too well! ” 

“ Which reminds me, Captain,” she said tremu¬ 
lously, “ that now we’re here on your ship, what 
do you intend to do for us — signal some passing 
steamer and put us aboard, or land us at some 
island trading post?” 

Captain Yardley looked at her from under beet¬ 
ling brows. He lifted up, still studying her with his 
sharp gimlet eyes, and shifted nervously from one 
leg to the other. 

“Wal, that’s hard to say, miss; that’s a poser, 
that is! You see,” moistening his lips, “ we’re not 
on’y hove-to here under close-reefed tops’ls and fore- 
151 


SEA PLUNDER 


topmast stays’l, with the wheel lashed hard down, 
but we’re as good as anchored with the drag of them 
two whoppin’ whales hangin’ alongside. So that 
puts runnin’ down an island outa the question for 
the time bein’ so to speak! ” 

“ But how about signaling some passing ship?” 
and her eyes fluttered toward Sherwood as if begging 
his aid. 

“ Hoh, that’s all well and good if we see any, ma’m, 
but there’s no tellin’ that we will! I can’t spare a 
man from the b’ilin’ to handle the wheel, as I said, 
let alone put a hull shift on watch, off and on, up 
in the crow’s nests!” 

“ But aren’t we in the lanes of steamer travel, 
sir?” interposed Sherwood audaciously. 

The skipper’s piggy eyes swiveled quickly, with 
resentment, toward him. 

“ That’s hard tellin’, Curly,” he forbore to explain 
in ominously softened voice. “ You remember, dur¬ 
ing that gale, I wasn’t able to take a sight, and 
then that gale had no more’n cleared off than we 
was out arter these whales. You see, ma’m,” he 
swung back to the girl, “ we have a sayin’ among 
us whalin’ capt’ns that we don’t care where we are 
so long as there’s plenty of sparm in sight; and 
that’s about my fix. I don’t know exactly where 
we are!” 

A perceptible silence followed. Clare O’Brine 
looked from the skipper to Sherwood and back 
again, and gnawed her lower lip in nervous distress. 

“ But surely,” the steward tried to help her out, 
“ we can’t be so far from that shoal we’ve just 
152 


SEA PLUNDER 


located on the chart, Captain. Look, sir/’ bending 
over the map, “ here’s the Johnston Islands only a 
short distance to the nor’east of that shoal. And 
we must be somewhere in between, or else to one 
side or the other.” 

“ Right-o, Curly; that’s an idee and thank you 
very much for it!” But there was no ring of sin¬ 
cerity in the skipper’s voice. He fairly glowered 
at the young fellow. “ Now I’ll study it out on 
the chart and you, Curly,” commandingly, “ you 
freshen up the young lady’s bunk and tidy that 
stateroom a bit! 

“ I’m givin’ up my stateroom complete to Miss 
O’Brine while she’s our guest,” he went on, as if 
in explanation of this sudden switch, “ and she’ll 
prob’ly want to turn in there ag’in shortly. Mean¬ 
time, though, we’ll use your idee, Curly, and work 
out our position, Miss O’Brine and myself, while 
you’re fixin’ that room shipshape! ” 

Sherwood could tell from the appealing look in 
the girl’s eyes that she would much prefer taking 
care of the stateroom herself, if only he might be 
allowed to remain with them. But Yardley had 
given his orders and Neil could do no less than 
reluctantly obey. 

As he busied himself in the stateroom, he could 
hear, shaking through the cabin, the hoarse rumble 
of the skipper’s voice, and he wondered what he 
could be saying, what he was up to after all. He 
feared the worst, instinctively, and was therefore 
all the more in a hurry to get through his task and 
report back. He wanted to witness the effect of 
153 


SEA PLUNDER 


the captain’s words on Miss O’Brine, but, just before 
stepping across the cabin threshold, he paused in 
the alleyway to listen. 

“ Arter we git all cleared up here, miss, which will 
be in about a week,” Yardley was saying, “ we’ll 
go in for a season of humpbackin’ among the Mar¬ 
shalls. They’re prime breedin’ ground for old blow- 
hard, the Marshalls, and it’s duck soup to catch 
’em in those shallows where they can’t sound deep. 
So we’ll jest ratch back and forth among them 
islands and prob’ly fetch up Jaluit in quick time. 
And there, no doubt, ma’m, you’ll find your father, 
all safe and comfy, and jest dyin’ for to greet you!” 

In the unsteady yellow rays of the gimbal lamp, 
Sherwood could detect tears of anxiety in the eyes 
of Clare O’Brine. She looked up at his entrance. 

“ Stateroom all ready, sir,” he reported. 

“ Wal, now you kin turn in, miss, any time you 
say,” Yardley turned to her. “ And you needn’t 
worry no more,” observing the moisture dimming her 
hazel eyes. “ I’ll do the werry best I can for you!” 

He swung back to the waiting steward. 

“ That’ll do, Curly. Report up on deck, now, to 
Mr. Carthew, in charge of your watch!” 

Sherwood was thunderstruck. 

“What — what’s that, sir?” he managed to 
stammer. 

Yardley smiled at his dismay, showing his teeth, 
which looked like yellow fangs in the coloring light 
from the lamp. 

“ What I said, Curly, me lad!” he retorted jibingly. 
“ The larbowlines are busy by now, b’ilin’ out them 
154 


SEA PLUNDER 


horse pieces from that hump of the bull. There’s 
a lotta sparm in that dorsal chunk, and you’ll no 
doubt want to see how it’s separated from the 
ordin’ry body ile. Me, I think I’ll turn in soon on 
these transom cushions,” he ended dismissingly. 

Sherwood did not know what to make of it all. 
He wanted to probe deeper, but fear of communi¬ 
cating his own dismay to Clare O’Brine stopped him. 
Hastily, he bowed to her and quit the cabin. But 
he paused again, out in the alleyway, at the sudden 
renewal of the skipper’s hoarse tones. 

“ He ain’t no proper steward, Curly,” the Old Man 
was explaining, as if in answer to some unspoken 
question in the girl’s eyes. “ You might tell that, 
miss, from the way he turned up his nose at havin’ 
to tidy your stateroom. Nor even a marlinespike 
seaman, he ain’t, for that matter,” he went merrily 
on. “ He’s a writer-guy, Curly, what shipped out 
with me to study the methods of modern whalin’ and 
write ’em up for the papers! That’s why, ma’m, 
I didn’t want he should miss seein’ the b’ilin’ out of 
them hump pieces!” 

“ Oh, really!” exclaimed the girl in what sounded 
like evident surprise. She went on to voice a ques¬ 
tion, but Sherwood waited for no more. He did not 
care to eavesdrop when he himself was the topic of 
conversation. 

But he could not help smiling grimly as he thought 
of the skipper’s explanation for his presence aboard. 
He had no doubt that Yardley would build up, from 
this, the essential safety of his ship, how nice and 
homey it was for everybody on the Ballenasl 
155 


SEA PLUNDER 


Of one thing, he was certain. If Yardley had 
entertained the notion, earlier that day, of using him 
permanently as cabin steward, his recent perspi¬ 
cacity in locating their approximate position on the 
chart had done him, once and for all time, out of that 
soft berth! 


156 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Neil Sherwood stepped out of the dark companion- 
way and made forward, in the shaking radiance from 
the cressets, to report to Mr. Carthew amidship. 
He noted that, even as Captain Yardley had sur¬ 
mised, the port watch were busy just then on the 
horse pieces from the dorsal hump of the bull. It 
was about eight-thirty o’clock. 

“ But I reckoned you was booked as steward, 
Curly, for the rest of the cruise,” puzzled Carthew, 
chewing on the tobacco-soaked ends of his mous¬ 
tache. 

Neil grinned. 

“So did I, sir,” he admitted, “ but I guess I worked 
myself out of that billet by showing too keen an 
understanding of the skipper’s intentions. He’s go¬ 
ing to hold these wreck survivors aboard, Mr. Car¬ 
thew, no matter whether we sight a passing ship or 
raise an island!” 

The mate blew out the ends of his moustache. 

“ No! Even the girl?” 

“ Particularly the girl,” nodded Sherwood with 
certitude. 

The lank mate studied him, then stepped to the 
rail and spit overside. By the time he swung back, 
he had got a grip on himself. 

“ Waal, git back to slicin’ them Bible-leaves, 
Curly,” he ordered dryly. “ You, Jorgy,” to the 
man who was helping Sam, “ you belay that and 
157 


SEA PLUNDER 


turn to passin’ them hoss pieces from hatch to 
mincer. Naow, Mr. Portalegre,” to his assisting 
mate, “ let’s have a little show of speed!” 

Leaving the supervision of the work thus in the 
hands of the third mate, he paced slowly back to 
the bulwark and stood staring, in deep thought, out 
over the dark, glassy swells of the Pacific. 

The limping Islander greeted Sherwood with a 
happy smile. 

“ Glad you’ve come back,” he said. “ I told you 
that flunky business was no fit job for a good man 
like you!” 

“ I wish I could agree with you, Sammy,” returned 
Neil enigmatically, his eyes on the lean back of Car- 
thew. “ But I’ll tell you all about it later.” 

They fell to then on the horse pieces from the 
dorsal hump which, as Captain Yardley had truly 
said, contained a surprising amount of spermaceti. 
Sherwood was aware that any admixture of the waxy 
sperm with the ordinary body oil would cause that 
oil to solidify in even a mild temperature. He had 
previously noticed that the head matter had been 
boiled separately and then run into special casks. 
So he naturally expected now, particularly in view 
of the skipper’s words, that some attempt would 
be made to extract this new find of spermaceti. 

But instead, oil and sperm were all boiled to¬ 
gether and left for the refiners on shore to sort and 
grade when they came to sell the different qualities 
to the soap, lubricant and candle manufacturers, and 
as a substitute for lard. Ham Yardley had evolved 
this little joke on Sherwood in order to rid the 
158 


SEA PLUNDER 


cabin of his presence and still make his withdrawal 
seem warranted. 

Quickly, however, the hour and a half of toil 
passed away, and the starbowlines appeared on deck, 
at ten o’clock, to relieve them. Once below, Sher¬ 
wood divulged to the Marshall Islander all that had 
transpired in the cabin, adding a few of his own 
fearful conjectures. 

Sam showed unflagging interest until Doc Limey 
came down the ladder with the evening tea and 
slices of salt horse, then he squared himself to the 
flap of the table and ate hungrily. But after his 
cabin fare of that day, Sherwood found he could not 
go the rough grub. He turned in almost immediately 
and for the remainder of his time off, slept restlessly. 

At four o’clock that morning they were again 
turned out and, no word of reinstatement coming 
from the skipper for Sherwood, he found himself 
once more at the mincer with Sam. In the breath¬ 
less calm which had succeeded the gale, the dawn 
brightened early, inflaming the eastern horizon into 
a red-burning filament. A pall of thick, opaque 
blackness persisted in the west, but about the ship 
hung a pervading misty grayness which seemed to 
make less effective the flaring glow from the try- 
works and cressets. The harpooners with their 
dippers and pitchforks appeared no longer like 
dancing devils thrown into ruddy relief. The whale- 
oil brightness was waging a losing battle with the 
opalescence of dawn. 

Since the watch had come on deck, Mr. Carthew 
had been standing at the starboard rail, apparently 
159 


SEA PLUNDER 


looking out over the long, lazy gray swells, but really 
in a brown study which had begun with Sherwood’s 
disturbing information of the evening prior. Now, 
as a little joke on Ham Yardley himself, came word 
from the mate which showed that, contrary to the 
skipper’s theory, the Ballenas was not so good as 
anchored by the tons of weight in those two whales 
towing alongside! 

“ Step over here, Mr. Portalegre! ” he called, and, 
as the third officer obeyed: “ Look thar!” pointing 
off the starboard quarter. “ Do you see that white 
speck in the blackness to west’ard?” 

The swarthy mate squinted, then quickly nodded. 

“ It’s surf all right, sir,” he said. “Either an island 
or a reef. But I can’t hear nothin’,” cocking his 
head to one side and cupping a hand about his ear. 

Mr. Carthew dropped his gaze to note the time 
by his thick silver watch, but under cover of his 
bushy brows, his eyes shifted to the bearded face 
of Portalegre and back to the watch again. Porta¬ 
legre, however, seemed only concerned in that slowly 
growing speck. 

“ The way we’re overhaulin’ it, Mr. Carthew,” he 
remarked, “ sartinly shows we’re driftin’, for all the 
Old Man’s opinions to the cont’ry.” 

“ Wal, we’re well within the midsummer limits 
of the nor’east trade-” 

“ But the trade ain’t up yet, sir, so it can’t be 
that!” 

The lank mate nodded, sucking in the ends of 
his moustache. He appeared uncertain what to say 
or do. Sherwood, at the mincing machine, caught 
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his eye wandering toward him. He realized then 
that Carthew had thought of arousing the skipper, 
but what he had told him, the evening prior, was 
causing him to hesitate and falter. 

“ I’m thinkin’, sir,” reopened Portalegre, “ it must 
be that nor’ equatorial current what’s draggin’ us 
along. It has a westerly set at times in these waters 
of anywheres from ten to fifty knots a day.” 

“ Right-o! ” agreed Carthew. He blew out the 
ends of his moustache as though suddenly determined 
on a course of action. “ But keep your men a-hust- 
lin’, Port,” he snapped, “ while I take a squint from 
the main crow’s nest. There’s no reason for 
sodjerin’ or slackenin’ on the work merely because 
we happen to sight a bit of land! ” And he glanced 
again at Sherwood, who had paused to watch him. 

Portalegre swung round on the larbowlines, in¬ 
censed a bit by the tone of the mate’s words. He re¬ 
lieved himself by hollering at the men. Then he fell to 
quenching the now needless cressets by hurling over¬ 
side, at the sharks, the burning scraps from the pans. 

The dawn gradually fired into sunrise, that smol¬ 
dering filament of horizon blazing up the eastern 
sky in a sheet of flame outshooting into the west. 
Stealing a moment from the cheese-cutter and glanc¬ 
ing out over the rosying sea, Sherwood could discern, 
off the starboard quarter and miles away, what 
looked like a white milk heaping up and smothering 
the dark tips of land, and hosts of sea birds wheeling 
over all, lending a blurred, hazy appearance to the 
dim outline. 

Carthew jumped down from the main lower rig- 
161 


SEA PLUNDER 


ging, just as an awkward guny came sailing in long 
flight out of the west. 

“ There’s no immedjit danger, Port,” he greeted 
the third mate with a rush of words. “ We’ll give 
that island a clear board — I could jedge that from 
the crow’s nest. But what’s the matter with throw¬ 
ing overside a chip log,” as the mate’s beard split 
apart to interpose a question, “ and seein’ jest how 
fast she’s settin’? You kin hold the sand-glass, 
Port; you, Jorgy,” to one of the men, “ tend the 
reel and I’ll handle the line.” 

The three made aft to the taffrail and shortly 
later Sherwood could hear them calling and answer¬ 
ing: 

“ Clear glass?” 

“ Glass clear, sir!” 

“ Stand by!” 

Neil perceived that Carthew was eager to attend 
to everything but the main issue. While up in the 
crow’s nest, studying the rising land and worrying his 
brains, he had probably thought of this chip log 
as a means of hedging a few minutes longer. But 
what he dreaded to do, Neil realized, was to call the 
skipper and determine, for a surety, whether he 
meant to land the wreck victims. And he hesi¬ 
tated to do this, no doubt, through uncertainty of 
himself, fearing he might champion the cause of the 
survivors and thus earn the enmity of the captain 
and bring about a split in the afterguard. 

“Turn her up, Port!” he suddenly shouted. 
Then, as the third mate held the glass so that the 
sand trickled down into the lower bulb, and the line 
162 


SEA PLUNDER 


approached its end, he warned: “ Look out!” And 
a space later: “ Up, Port!” 

Again and promptly the third mate turned the 
glass, and Carthew stopped the line. His brow 
wrinkled under the strain of mentally calculating the 
knots and fractions. 

“Whew!” he exclaimed at last. “That means 
we’re driftin’ like all-git-out! All of two knots per 
hour, or about twinty-four miles due west betoon 
each dawn and darkness!” 

“ And more’n that, Mr. Carthew, when the trade 
wind is snortin’. Hear that, sir?” 

Above the crackle of try-furnace and sizzle of 
boiling oil sounded the throaty rumble of surf. The 
swarthy bearded fellow looked quizzically at his 
superior. 

Carthew was again chewing the ends of his black 
moustache with nervousness. He knew what was 
coming and felt at a loss for further means to 
thwart it. 

“ Don’t you think, sir,” spoke up Portalegre, 
“ don’t you think you’d better call the Old Man?” 

Carthew glanced disconsolately toward Sherwood. 

“ But why?” he tried to counter. “ We’ll give that 
island a clear board, as I said. There don’t seem 
no immedjit danger, Port!” almost pleadingly. 

“ I know,” nodded the bearded one; “ but mebbe, 
if there’s a tradin’ post on this island, the skipper 
might want to land them wreck wictims there!” 

“Why, I never thought of that!” lied Carthew, 
manfully. But he could dodge the issue no longer. 
“ Sure, there may be somethin’ in what you say,” 
163 


SEA PLUNDER 


he agreed, reluctantly. “ I’ll see what Capt’n Yard- 
ley opines,” and he made slowly toward the cabin 
companionway. 


164 


CHAPTER XXV 


By the time the captain appeared on deck, in 
answer to Mr. Carthew’s summons, gulls, huge 
albatross and crimson-pouched frigate-birds were 
fluttering in screeching masses about the Ballenas 
and, off the starboard quarter, the land had lifted 
itself into clear view in the crystalline morning air 
and they could make it out for what it really was 
— a reef surrounding a long lagoon, in the north¬ 
west corner of which rose two islets, the smaller a 
mere sand bank and roost for the numerous sea fowl, 
the larger covered with bushes, but no trees, out of 
which stuck up a bare white flagstaff and several 
shacks. 

“ Them’s Johnston Islands, accordin’ to Findlay,” 
said Captain Yardley nervously. He talked on as 
though in effort to conceal some inner agitation. 
“ Sometimes called the Cornwallis Isles, latitoode 
16° 53' 20" nor’, longitoode 169° 31' 30" west. I 
looked ’em up afore I came on deck,” he added, 
as if to explain this precise knowledge. 

But Sherwood realized the skipper had no sooner 
heard of the landfall than he comprehended what it 
was. Had not Neil himself pointed out, on the 
chart, the proximity of these islands and thereby 
incurred the captain’s displeasure and his own dis¬ 
missal as steward! 

He paused with uplifted mincing-knife to watch 
165 


SEA PLUNDER 


the play-actor. Captain Yardley had raised his 
binoculars, but though they were glued to his eye- 
sockets, they seemed to jump up and down with the 
nervous trembling of his hands. 

“Phew!” ejaculated Yardley at last. “ They’re 
so close aboard, them islets, I kin a’most make out 
the sign on one of the shacks. It’s the post of a 
tradin’ and plantation comp’ny,” he hastened to add, 
lest he might forget and read off the telltale name. 
“ Yet there’s no word of this atoll in the Pacific 
Islands Pilot,” he went on. “ I looked ’em up, as 
I said, but the U. S. Hydro Orfice don’t seem to 
know they exist. Gotta go back to the old lime- 
juicer’s book for the real dope. It says, you remim- 
ber, Carthew, there’s a good anchorage three-quarters 
of a mile sou’-sou’east from them huts under that 
bare pole.” 

“ Then why not haul in there, sir,” suggested the 
mate quietly, “ and drop our hook while we land 
these wreck victims and speed up on the tryin’-out?” 

Captain Yardley lowered the glasses to glare at 
him. He realized thereat he had divulged a bit too 
much in his effort at soliloquy. 

“ And pay harbor toll to them Anzac skinflints 
what own that guano station!” he countered. He 
showed unusual knowledge of the nationality and 
business of the post, but in his endeavor to cover 
up his true motivation, he was only concerned in 
making himself out as the miserly spouter skipper 
of proverb. 

“ But what’s the use, sir,” persisted Carthew, 
oddly, “ what’s the use takin’ chances driftin’ re- 
166 


SEA PLUNDER 


gardless like this and burdenin’ ourselves with them 
passengers?” 

“ Oh, as to them bein’ passengers and a burden, 
Mr. Carthew,” replied Yardley, with a leer, u ain’t 
you got work a-plenty for them three seamen, once 
they git around on their pins? Take a turn on that, 
Carthew! And don’t get all riled up jest because 
we happen to be makin’ westin’ a bit with this nor’ 
equatorial stream. Accordin’ to the chart, there’s 
no chance of us runnin’ anything down from here to 
the Marshalls, ’ceptin’ on’y Schjetnan or Rene Reefs, 
which are all of five or six hundert miles west!” 

“ Then you’re gonna-” 

“ Let her drift, Mr. Carthew!” And he clapped 
the binoculars to his eyes in conclusion. “ But 
looket! ” gazing through the glasses. “ There’s a man 
scramblin’ outa one of them shacks! He’s got a 
lifeboat drawed up on the sand, jest like the one we 
took aboard! Good we didn’t lash that on top of 
the gallows in plain sight!” he added, more to him¬ 
self than the mate. “ But now he’s below the flag 
pole,” excitedly, “ He’s breaking out a h’ist! Take 
a peek, Carthew!” and he pressed the glasses into 
the hands of his assistant. 

“ It’s a three-flag hoist, sir,” spoke up the mate, 
studying through the lenses. “ That’s general vo¬ 
cabulary in the international code. I can make out 
the comp’ny’s code flag above a red, white and blue- 
barred pennant. That’s ‘ Easy ’ in the code. It 
means he’s standin’ by to spell out the signal to us 
alphabetically.” 

Captain Yardley swore. 

167 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ He must ’a’ sighted us trimmin’ our glasses on 
them isles. But I’m derned glad that lifeboat’s outa 
sight under that strip of tarpaulin,” he murmured, 
with a glance toward that huddle on deck. “ Here, 
give the binoculars, Carthew!” he requested. “ And 
run below for my code book. But go easy, sir,” he 
paused to caution the mate, ere lifting the glasses 
again to his eyes. “ The young lady is asleep in 
my stateroom — I gave it up entire to her, y’know 
— and I don’t want you should wake her up, poor 
thing!” 

He turned back to the midship rail, clapping the 
binoculars to his eyes, as Carthew started aft. 

“ I’ll get the book for you, sir,” spoke up a new 
voice, as if addressing the mate. “ You’ll probably 
want to remain here, sir, to help Captain Yardley 
decipher those flags.” 

Captain Yardley lowered the glasses hastily and 
swung about. What he saw put him into a swift, 
towering rage. Sherwood had stepped around from 
the mincer on the port side of the try-works and 
intercepted the mate on his way toward the com¬ 
panion. He was smiling ingratiatingly up at the lank 
mate, as the skipper caught sight of them. 

But Ham Yardley was not fooled by this pleas¬ 
ant volunteering. He knew what Sherwood had in 
mind to do, should he be allowed to go below for 
the code book — awake Miss O’Brine and have her 
put in an appearance on deck, so that the agent on 
the island might glimpse her and shove off in the 
lifeboat to land her at the station. 

If he could not make it out with his naked eye, 
168 


SEA PLUNDER 


Sherwood had overheard the skipper speak of that 
lifeboat drawn up on the sand. He had quickly 
and most logically arrived at a conclusion. That 
lifeboat was from the grounded schooner, Taritari, 
and Clare O’Brine’s father was on the atoll, probably 
lying exhausted, at that moment, in one of the 
several shacks! 

With a businesslike air, Captain Yardley slung 
the binoculars by their strap over his shoulder. In 
one bound he cleared the deck separating him from 
Sherwood. His fists were clenched into hard, bulg¬ 
ing knots and he drew back his long right arm to 
let fly at the news writer. 

But in a longer bound, some one leaped up behind 
him, caught his flexed right arm and swung him 
about! 

“You, big boy!” he cried. He was facing Sam, 
the Marshall Islander. 

“ He’s my blood-brother, She’wood,” said the 
Kanaka, looking calmly down at him. “ You hit 
him, Capt’n, you hit me! You harm him, I hurt 
you!” 


169 


CHAPTER XXVI 


What followed was like one of those plastic poses 
on a stage where the performers maintain a certain 
attitude, without movement, for moments on end. 
Sam held on to that crooked right arm; the captain 
stood, slack of jaw, staring up at him, and Sherwood 
waited beside the aghast mate, not knowing himself 
what to do. 

On the island, three colored banners drooped from 
the flagstaff, awaiting some acknowledgment; aboard 
the ship, the fritters crackled, the oil sizzled, the 
birds cawed and screamed, and the two men, Col¬ 
lins and Harbottle, below in the blubber-room could 
be heard talking. But about the deck, all activity 
had ceased as Portalegre and his crew stared spell¬ 
bound at the Kanaka. 

The Islander was by far the most self-possessed 
man aboard. What he was doing was not in the 
slightest degree extraordinary to him. What else 
could he do, according to his simple Polynesian law 
of brotherhood! 

“ You go now, She’wood,” he spoke up finally. 
“ Get the book, and, if you think so, the girl! 

“ No, no; stop him!” shouted Yardley, rousing 
himself as Neil started aft, and bellowing like a bull 
seal. “ Get him, throw him, Carthew — anything to 
'^op him! Port, Mac, Reynolds, all hands! Help! 
^ is mutiny!” 

1 closed with the giant Kanaka, just as Carthew 
170 


SEA PLUNDER 


stuck out his foot and sent the hurrying Sherwood 
a-sprawl upon the deck. Sam lifted the chunky 
skipper off his feet, swung him like a pendulum, 
then hurled him bodily and with terrific force full 
at his first mate. Both Carthew and the captain 
went down on top of the flattened Sherwood, and 
Sam, leaping in to help disentangle his friend, found 
Portalegre and MacLellan springing up behind him 
upon his back. 

He lifted erect, grinning, and attempted to flick 
them off by shaking himself like a lion from side to 
side. But they proved themselves leeches for hold¬ 
ing on, Port tightening his grip more and more on 
the brown neck and MacLellan pressing his knee 
into the small of the big fellow’s back. 

Sam strained to break that leverage, to bend for¬ 
ward and hurtle the two over his head. The tensed 
biceps and triceps stood out on his arms, pulled the 
covering sleeves tight as drumheads; the veins 
showed like whipcords on his neck and sweating 
forehead. He looked, indeed, like some mighty 
brown Laocoon struggling with serpents! And then 
a third man, Jorgenson, joined the two limpets upon 
his back, and down he went, supine and gasping, 
with the whole three beneath him! 

“Bind them up!” roared Yardley, crawling out 
from that tangle of kicking legs and striking arms 
which was Carthew and Sherwood. “ Here, a coupla 
you, help the mate; the rest on top of that haythen! 
Take that rope coiled about that lash rail! Frap 
their legs together! Now,” supervising the tricing, 
“ yank them up to that rail, facin’ outboard, and 
171 


SEA PLUNDER 


lash their fins fast, for’rd of that lower jaw. They’ll 
think ashore they’re busy cuttin’ scrimshaw outa that 
bull’s mouth!” and he chuckled grimly. 

“ Git back to work now, men, as though nothin’s 
happened,” he added, all this accomplished. “ Mr. 
Carthew, let your eye be; you kin see well enuff 
outa one to find that code book! But no noise 
below, remimber! I don’t want no womin paradin’ 
my boards!” 

Bound to the lash rail though he was, unable 
to do anything more for the girl, Sherwood still 
clutched, like the proverbial drowning man, at a 
frail straw of hope. He hoped that the noise of the 
scuffle, especially the leather-lunged roaring of the 
skipper, had awakened the girl and that presently, 
despite all precautions, she would venture in inquiry 
up on deck. But when Carthew bobbed up out 
of the companion, his right eye showing rapid dis¬ 
coloration, the thin code book in his hand, and 
no white-skirted figure with blond hair and appeal¬ 
ing hazel eyes followed, Neil slumped perceptibly. 

“ We’re in for it now, Sammy!” he attempted to 
smile; but his lips were cut and puffed and the 
result was a sort of grimace. “ But what in the 
world made you do it, big boy?” And he looked up, 
in question, at the Kanaka whose brown hands were 
bound, like his own, to the lash rail. 

“ You’re my brother,” said the Islander, simply, 
only he used the native word tei. “ Your fight is my 
fight, She’wood; your punishment mine, too! See, 
we’re trussed up exac’ly the same, just like 
brothers!” And he smiled, proud and happy! 

172 


SEA PLUNDER 


“Well, this beats anything I’ve ever heard of!” 
mumbled Neil, resorting to glib slang to hide the 
trembling in his voice. Profoundly moved, he looked 
down over the bulwark at the birds flocking and 
fighting upon the grayish backs of the whales towing 
alongside. 

A movement on the afterdeck attracted his atten¬ 
tion. He was unable to turn his body about, but 
at least he could swivel his head. And he saw that 
Captain Yardley, having withdrawn with Carthew 
abaft the cabin skylight, was leaning over the taff- 
rail and waving his long arms above his head as a 
sign to the man on the island to go ahead with his 
signaling. 

“Look, Sam,” he said, “that flag pole there! 
The agent’s breaking out another hoist, with different 
colors and shapes this time. Can you read them?” 

Sam nodded hesitantly. 

“ Some of them,” he qualified. “ As Carthew said, 
a code flag over E or Easy means the start of a 
message, and over F or Fox, the end of a word. A 
blue pennant with a white ball in the center is the 
D or Dog flag, meaning no-” 

“ But this, according to Carthew, is the mere 
spelling out of the words alphabetically. If you 
know the letters the flags stand for, as you appear 
to, Sam, then we can get along nicely without their 
inner code meaning-” 

“Belay your jaw-taykel there, you two!” inter¬ 
posed the voice of Portalegre. He had stepped up 
behind them unnoticed. “ Don’t think this is any 
pink tea, jest because you happen to be clear of 
173 



SEA PLUNDER 


work and settin’ up there like decoys on a duck 
pond! You’ve run foul with your damn mutiny 
what’s left me plumb short-handed, and I’ll see the 
Old Man takes it outa your hide and don’t you 
forgit it!” 

Sherwood did not turn his head. He was busy 
making a mental picture of those three flags ashore 
ere they should be doused. But out of the corner 
of his eye, he saw Portalegre pace back into the 
waist and, a moment later, heard him shouting at 
Jorgenson to speed up on the mincing. 

“ Do you remember the letters of that second 
hoist?” he whispered to Sam amid the cawing of 
the birds, as a third trio of banners danced up to 
the pole top. 

Sam conquered an inclination to nod. 

“ Cast — have — oboe,” he repeated nautically, 
“ or c-h-o.” 

“ And what are the three letters flying there now?” 

“ Oboe — nan — easy, or o-n-e,” softly. 

“ Well, so far we have c-h-o-o-n-e,” puzzled Sher¬ 
wood. “ Say, maybe this is code stuff after all! But 
there goes another hoist!” 

In subdued voice, Sam read: 

“ Rush, that’s r; Fox, meaning the end of the 
word; and Tare or t.” 

“ Let’s see,” whispered Sherwood, more and more 
perplexed. “ We have c-h-o-o-n-e-r-, then t. Ah,” 
brightly, “ I’ve got it! That’s schooner! We missed 
the opening letter on the first hoist!” 

“ Ssh!” warned Sam. “ But I recall it now,” he 
agreed. “It was the letter s under Easy.” 

174 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ And t stands for Taritari, I J 11 bet!” guessed 
Neil, leaping at conclusions. Thus, almost before 
each word was spelled out, he had fathomed the 
rest of it. The complete message read: 

“Schooner Taritari lost on shoal. One lifeboat 
landed here, crew all safe. Other missing. Have 
you seen it?” 

The two prisoners at the rail swung their eyes 
toward the afterdeck. Captain Yardley and his 
blackened-eyed mate were opening the signal locker 
under the quarters bulwark. Up to the spanker gaff, 
they ran a blue pennant with a white ball in the 
center. 

“ That’s the Dog flag!” breathed Sam, astounded. 
“ It means no!” 

What Sherwood muttered was unintelligible, per¬ 
haps because of the condition of his lips; but it 
sounded suspiciously like an oath. 

“ Shake out them reefs from the tops’ls, Port, 
and set a man at the wheel!” came the husky tones 
of Captain Yardley. He belied, by this order, all 
his previous excuses to Miss O’Brine of short- 
handedness, but Sherwood realized he wanted to 
be sure and put the islets below the horizon before 
any of the survivors should venture on deck! 


175 


CHAPTER XXVII 


Before the larbowlines finished their watch, at 
ten o’clock that morning, the islands were a blurred 
cloud on the eastern rim, an effect probably due to 
the slow wheeling of the myriad of returned and 
still-disturbed fowl. Only one huge albatross con¬ 
tinued to roost on the bull whale towing off their 
bow; it looked in comparison as tiny as that bird 
which forever clings to the back of the rhinoceros. 

But soon even it was gone. There was no other 
telltale evidence of the landfall, and the ship was 
again hove-to. Everything was as formerly. And 
still below, in fo’c’s’le, steerage and captain’s state¬ 
room, the four worn passengers of the lifeboat con¬ 
tinued to sleep in blissful ignorance of how close 
they had come to rejoining their friends! 

Long before this, however, Sherwood and Sam 
had been bundled down into the carpenter shop, 
where Chips had proceeded to fasten the darbies on 
their ankles, and shackle them to the deck of the 
passage just outside his cubby. The passageway 
led from the harpooners’ glory hole aft to the fore¬ 
peak, and gave onto the blubber-room amidship and 
the carpenter shop just abaft the fo’c’s’le. But Cap¬ 
tain Yardley had banned it now to all but Chips. 
He was to be responsible for the prisoners, seeing 
to it that they held communication with no one and 
subsisted on nothing but hard-tack and water! 

“ Men,” said Captain Ham informally to the port 
176 


SEA PLUNDER 


watch ere he hailed the starbowlines on deck to re¬ 
lieve them, “ we’ve had a mutiny aboard which we 
forchunately nipped in the bud, and now the less 
said about it, the better! There’s no use you 
shootin’ off your mouths to them two pore sailors 
for’rd or thet mate of the wrecked schooner below 
in the steerage! 

“ Collins,” he hastened to add, addressing that 
weazened gray-beard as he clambered up out of 
the blubber-room, “ you’re a putty old-timer to be 
down thar handlin’ them heavy blankets; so now 
you’ve broken in that millyunaire Fauntleroy and 
we’ve got three new hands aboard, one of them kin 
spell you below when you’re called to dooty next 
time. You act as bo’sun, Bart, over the men passin’ 
them hoss pieces up to the mincer.” 

The old chantey leader was no end surprised at 
this sudden regard for his years, but he managed to 
stammer: 

“ Thank you kindly, sir.” 

“ If you please, Captain,” spoke up Harbottle, 
scrambling out of the main hatch at that moment and 
overhearing the order, “ and if it’s all the same to 
you, sir, I’d suggest one of those survivors as my 
relief, also!” 

The skipper looked at him, his pudgy lids con¬ 
tracting oddly about his tiny eyes. 

“ That so?” he asked in a portentously softened 
voice. “ And which one would you su’jest, my fine 
feller?” 

“ Oh, any of the three would do, sir,” replied the 
gullible Harbottle. “ But the mate would probably 
177 


SEA PLUNDER 


be best, as he could take Collins’ place and boss the 
job. You know, sir, see that the other hand worked 
up to snuff!” 

The skipper’s eyes glinted. 

“ Say, what are you tryin’ to do!” he roared, 
advancing threateningly. “ Organize another mu¬ 
tiny, take pattern from Curly and that hay then 
below and tell me what to do, make a nigger outa 

-” He paused abruptly, both in words and 

movement, at the look of sincere surprise on the 
other’s face. 

“ Mutiny?” repeated Harbottle. “ Curly and — 
and Sam?” He gazed swiftly around as though 
searching for the mentioned pair. “ Why, the last 
I knew, Sherwood was back at the mincer! I never 
heard of any mutiny, sir. I was below; I knew 
nothing about it, though I remember now I did 
hear some noise! But I thought-” 

“ I guess you did hear some noise — my shouts, 
you mean! But never mind what you thought! 
You missed a lesson in discipline, that’s all!” 

Yardley had lowered his voice, but his tone was 
no less sour. He resented the fact that, immedi¬ 
ately after warning the men on deck not to talk, he 
should be guilty himself of the same indiscretion. 
He felt like biting off his tongue but, instead, vented 
his chagrin on the unwitting hapa haole. 

“ And let me tell you somethin’ else, Fauntleroy,” 
he went on. “ That mate is too good an all-round 
seaman to do your dirty dooty below. That’s on’y 
for your own wishwashy kind, neither black nor 
white nor salty! Darn you!” brandishing his 
178 




SEA PLUNDER 


clenched fist in the other’s blank, swarthy face, “ git 
for’rd, you half-breed, and git a-jumpin’, before I 
lay you out!” 

Harbottle waited for no more, but fled precipi¬ 
tancy up the deck and down the fo’c’s’le scuttle. 
When the rest of the watch followed him, slipping 
down the ladder between the starbowlines filing up, 
they found him slumped in apparent dejection upon 
the edge of his bunk, a pool of oil already on the 
deck at his feet with the drip off his saturated 
garments. But his ears were wide open to their 
incontainable gossip, buzzing through the fo’c’s’le, 
and his brains were working overtime upon an 
unlooked-for trend of thought. 

He waited until after the cook served luncheon, 
and they had all turned in and were breathing loud 
and discordantly, with that ready adaptability of 
sailors to sleep anywhere, any time. Then he tip¬ 
toed to the stout door in the after-bulkhead and, 
swinging it slowly open, gazed in on the passageway 
leading amidship. 

The passage was brighter than the fo’c’s’le be¬ 
cause the door of the carpenter shop was ajar and 
the sunlight was streaming through a porthole in the 
cubby, a-dance with golden motes and hazy from 
the smoke of Chips’ pipe. Lying out in the narrow 
way, their shackled feet pressed sole against sole, 
were Sam and Sherwood, fast asleep! 

Like the rest of the port watch, they were no doubt 
exhausted from their work of the morning, particu¬ 
larly as it had been added to by their run-in with 
captain and mates. Sam’s head, pillowed on one 
179 


SEA PLUNDER 


brown, sinewy arm, lay almost beneath Harbottle. 
He was snoring stertorously but Sherwood, beyond, 
moved restlessly as though bothered by uneasy 
dreams. 

Harbottle closed the door soundlessly, yet with a 
certain unmistakable air of decision. His mind was 
made up. He had told Sherwood once that, with the 
giant Kanaka’s aid, he should be stronger aboard the 
spouter than even Captain Yardley himself. But the 
suggestion had been put into practice. The idea had 
been brought to a focus and issue and — the skipper 
had won! 

Harbottle hesitated no longer. He had seen with 
his own eyes. Sherwood and Sam were prisoners, 
serfs of the drowsing Chips, shackled to the deck of 
the passageway, down and out! There was only one 
power aboard the grease-tanker, one person with 
whom it was politic to curry favor. The wily hapa 
haole made up on deck to reopen negotiations with 
Captain Ham Yardley! 


180 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


Yardley almost dropped the new cob pipe from 
his slack lips at seeing the tall greasy fellow 
approach. The skipper had been sitting on the 
taffrail, puffing at the pipe and gazing, now and 
then, toward that dim suggestion of cloud on the 
eastern rim. Whether from irritation due to the 
newness of the cob, or through some qualm of con¬ 
science, his thoughts seemed perturbed. Certainly 
he was in no mood for even the most friendly over¬ 
tures. Yet the effrontery of the senator’s invasion 
of his sacred domain took the wind, for the moment, 
out of his sails. 

Then: “Hey, there!” he shouted. “You don’t 
enj’y your snooze below, eh? Wanta work double 
shift with this watch?” 

It was a threat, but Harbottle continued to 
approach, a smile as oily as his garments upon his 
lean, swart face. 

“ Git off my quarter-deck!” bellowed the skipper, 
the scar on his cheek puffing out and flushing crim¬ 
son. “ What do you mean cornin’ aft unbidden, and 
trailin’ ile about like this!” And he leaped off the 
rail and strode forward as though with the idea of 
having that much momentum behind any blow he 
should suddenly decide to deliver. 

“ Captain,” said Harbottle, abjectly holding up 
his hand, “ an hour ago, I asked relief from the 
blubber-room, but now-” 


181 



SEA PLUNDER 


His words were clipped short in a squashy thud. 
Yardley had hit him on the knob of one cheekbone. 
He went down sidewise, bracing himself with an 
extended hand. 

“ And naow,” roared Yardley, grinning down at 
him and feeling much better, “ naow I’ve laid you 
out as I promised! ” 

“ But if you’ll only listen, sir,” continued the 
other from his vantage there on his knees, safe 
below any swing of those long arms, and cringing 
as if the situation demanded that, but still looking 
up, “ if you’ll only listen a moment, I know you’ll 
thank me, sir, for my scheme when I’m done!” 

“ Scheme! To ’ell with your mealy mouthed 
jigamarees!” 

“ But I’ve just had a look at your two prisoners, 
sir-” 

“ Oh, you’ve had, eh?” stepping closer, standing 
menacingly over him. “ Against my strict warnin’ 
of everybody to claw off and stand clear! What’s 
the idee? Is Chips a cripple that he didn’t give 
you what-for?” 

“ He was drowsing over his pipe, sir, and didn’t 
see me,” reported the man. There was that in his 
quiet words which slowed up the skipper and caused 
him to look at the cringing fellow with a new eye. 
This hapa haole was useful after all, if for nothing 
more than spying on the other hands! 

“ Git up!” he said tersely. “ And spiel off what’s 
on your chest! On’y don’t waste your breath and 
my time tryin’ to git outa that blubber-room 
dooty-” 


182 




SEA PLUNDER 


“No, sir, it’s not that at all!” was the sur¬ 
prising answer and, with an alacrity as surprising, 
he leaped afoot. “ It’s in regard to keeping those 
two mutineers as virtual prisoners and still getting 
work out of them in punishment!” 

Yardley was instantly interested — and made no 
bones about concealing it. 

“ No? YouVe got sailin’ directions as to that? 
Wal, don’t fiddle around, man. Pipe up lively! 
How would you go about that, now?” 

“Very simple, sir, if you’ll allow me to say so. 
Just put them down in the blubber-room, barring 
the door into the passageway, and keep them work¬ 
ing there as a penalty for their rebellion against 
duly constituted authority!” 

“ Hoh, I reckoned the blubber-room dooty had 
something to do with it!” dryly. He seemed quite 
taken aback. “ Them are fine words, no doubt, but 
still-” 

“ Isn’t it a feasible scheme, sir?” 

“ A what?” 

“ A good sound plan, Captain. Why leave those 
two fellows to sleep in the passageway and take 
things generally easy, while all the rest of us have to 
slave like Trojans? It’s a bad example, sir! And 
besides, even with the help of these three wreck 
victims, sir, you’ve got your hands full to flench and 
try-out these whales before a sea comes up or the 
sharks rob you of too much blubber!” 

“ That’s so,” admitted the skipper, nodding with 
unexpected thought. “ Down this-a-ways, you can’t 
depend on the weather from one day to the next. 

183 



SEA PLUNDER 


And them sharks — say, you’ve used your eyes, 
all right! You’ve got brains, I see!” 

“ Oh, not so much that, sir, only I couldn’t help 
noticing that every time those sharks turn up their 
white bellies, they nip out a chunk of blubber big 
as a football!” 

“ Exsatly, and that bull and cow won’t larst long 
with that mob of hungry scavengers! Right-o! ” 

“ But this scheme of mine, sir, not only gives you 
the services of the two prisoners. It releases Chips 
from guard-duty to help Bungs, the cooper, with his 
hoops and staves. And with the addition of those 
three castaways, it puts to work altogether six men, 
a whole whaleboat crew, at present standing idle and 
eating your grub!” 

“ That’s right ag’in,” Yardley agreed. But he 
squinted at the other, while a sly smile creased only 
one side of his face on account of that leathery scar. 
“ Now, s’pose I say your scheme is tidy, and put 
it under way and full speed ahead. Natchally that’ll 
relieve you from all blubber-room dooty.” 

“ Naturally.” 

“ Wal, what more do you want?” craftily. “ Oh, 
I kin see, plain as day, you want somethin’ in 
exchange for the idee! But what’s the billet? 
Curly’s old job at the mincer?” 

Harbottle shook his head. 

“ His last job as your steward, sir! ” he said boldly. 

“ Wal, of all the soft and easy berths! Say, you 
have got narve!” the captain could not help com¬ 
menting. But still he studied the sharp-featured 
hapa haole with an appraising eye. 

184 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Arter all,” he was forced to admit, though with 
apparent reluctance, “you’d be jest the man! 
You’ve got brains, as I said — that scheme of mak- 
in’ a brig outa the blubber-room ain’t so worser. 
And the afterguard is kickin’ already about their 
mess, not to speak of Doc Limey with all this work 
piled on him, single-handed! Aye, you’d be jest 
the man to put it on fancy-like for a lady, naow 
wouldn’t you?” insinuatingly. “ How about that, 
naow?” 

But Harbottle was not to be caught a second time 
by the captain’s lubberly guile. 

“ If you mean, sir, that I’m a lady’s man, I’m 
afraid I’ll have to say no and lose the billet. For 
you see, Captain, I’m too old for such ideas. Why, 
I have a daughter, sir, every day as old as this young 
woman below!” 

“No! Is that so?” eyeing him with increasing 
regard. 

“ Surely, sir,” quick to follow up the evident 
advantage. “I’ve been a widower for years, taking 
full care of my only daughter. So you can judge 
from that whether I know something of the species. I 
really believe, sir, I could help you in making things 
comfortable and homey aft!” 

“ But not too comfy, not like Curly!” objected 
the skipper, with strange qualms. “ No tricks be¬ 
hind my back, no show-off of airy fairy l’arnin’ just 
to catch me foul and find favor in her eyes! You’ll 
have to sing low and claw off and keep an even 
keel!” 

Harbottle saw it was expedient to show con- 
185 


SEA PLUNDER 


tempt for the former steward and his ingratiating 
ways. 

“ Oh, I know him, Captain, probably better than 
you do yourself,” he said. “ He’s a lady’s man, pure 
and simple, Sherwood! Why, wasn’t he trying to 
make love to my own daughter in Honolulu! That’s 
the reason, sir, I had Pilikea Pete ship him out with 
you, to get rid of his undesired attentions-” 

“ Hoh, that’s the stuff!” exclaimed Yardley, grin¬ 
ning. “ That’s the movie to tell her ladyship below! 
Blacken him in her eyes, make him out for the 
queeno he is! Go to it, Fauntleroy; give him an 
awful broadside! Then she won’t be pipin’ up all 
the time about that writer-guy, where he is, what’s 
he doin’-” He paused sharply. 

“ I tole her that,” he admitted, suddenly crest¬ 
fallen. “ I tole her Curly was aboard to study 
modern whalin’ and then write it up for the papers! 
I thought it would look well for the old Ballenas, 
give the ship a good name and sech. But now,” 
and he appeared bewildered, helpless, “ now how 
will you clear that away and still account for him 
and you — two fancy guys — bein’ aboard here? 
There’s a corker of a problem!” 

It was, apparently, but the wily hapa haole proved 
instantly equal to it. He had not rushed into this 
thing without previous and mature thought. 

“ Easy, Captain!” he smiled. “ I’ll say you were 
fooled, too — that he was a blackmailer back in 
Honolulu, that he got out a pink, gossipy society 
sheet and then held up prominent men like myself to 
keep their names and secrets out of the pink pages! 

186 




SEA PLUNDER 


I wouldn’t stand for his blackmail, you see; I 
wouldn’t stand for him calling on my daughter, so, 
to get rid of me, an obstacle in his nefarious career, 
he had me shipped out by means of that black crimp, 
Pilikea Pete! Oh, it’ll sound romantic enough to 
catch her fancy-” 

“ But how about him bein’ aboard? That explains 
you, all shipshape and Bristol style, but how come 
Curly aboard this blubber-boat?” 

“ Listen, Captain,” said Harbottle confidentially, 
his eyes twinkling and lean lips twitching. “ He got 
drunk too soon in his triumph — he’s a booze-hound, 
of course!— so in the mix-up that followed at Pete’s, 
he was shipped out by mistake, also. Oh, you knew 
nothing about who we were or how Pete had come 
to ship us! But when you did perceive we were 
not the mere foremast hands you had thought, you 
asked Sherwood for his end of the story, without 
consulting me, and naturally you believed every rank 
lie he told-” 

“You get the job, steward!” Yardley clapped 
him on the back with such enthusiasm that he 
cringed in no make-believe. “ And we’ll put those 
two mutineers below in the blubber-room jest as 
soon as the port watch, their watch, goes back to 
dooty! Now git for-rd and strip off them oily 
garments. Get a new issue from the slop-chest — 
tell Mr. Carthew it’s the skipper’s orders — and 
sluice a bucket of salt water over your head. Then 
report aft to me here to set the table for lunch!” 

“ You’ll dine tete-a-tete, sir?” inquired Harbottle, 
politely, starting away. 

187 




SEA PLUNDER 


The skipper swung him back with one hand on 
his greasy sleeve. 

“ There you go, shootin’ off your infarnal high¬ 
falutin’ gibberish at fust chance, jest like Curly!” 
he objected. “ Who’s to make any sense outa that 
— tay-a-tay! Sounds like Kanaka to me, like 
Taritari or wiki wiki! No more of that, naow!” 
he ended warningly. 

“ But it simply means, in French, that the cap¬ 
tain and her ladyship will dine together, head to 
head!” And with that Parthian shot, Harbottle 
bounded off, leaving the skipper a wreath of grins, 
even to his scar. 


188 


CHAPTER XXIX 


Later that noon Harbottle could be seen on the 
afterdeck, dusting off the flag-locker under the 
quarter rail and wearing a wrinkled jacket of dubi¬ 
ous white which he must have dug up from the dead 
steward’s sea bag below in the steerage. He dived 
down the companion and returned with an arm¬ 
ful of cushions from the cabin transom. These he 
proceeded to arrange on top of the signal-locker 
and against the bulwark. 

Then he made still another journey below, re¬ 
appearing this time with several tattered magazines 
tucked under one white-sleeved arm, while with the 
other he gallantly escorted Miss O’Brine across the 
deck and up to the cushioned seat. 

Clare was hatless, her blond tresses piled carefully 
up on her tiny head and gleaming in the sunlight. 
She had discarded her father’s Norfolk coat and was 
wearing only the white fleecy dress in which she 
had come aboard, for it was high noon and very 
warm, the sun’s rays belching down from almost 
directly overhead and no feather of trade wind stir¬ 
ring the torpidity. 

Upon one of the cushions, the assiduous steward 
laid the ship’s circulating library — those few be¬ 
draggled books he had gathered from various quar¬ 
ters, fore and aft. Then he remained, leaning against 
the rail beside her, explaining, in quiet conversational 
tone, the boiling operations going on amidship. She 
189 


SEA PLUNDER 


only noticed the magazines to select the cleanest 
copy, open it and place it upon her head as a sun¬ 
shade. She followed then, with frank, interested 
hazel eyes, each detail of the trying-out as he ex¬ 
plained it. 

Captain Yardley paced the quarter-deck on what 
might have been called the windward side had the 
trade wind been up. His tiny eyes twinkled between 
their pudgy lids as he overheard Harbottle switch 
the conversation adroitly back to Sherwood. He 
was a find, this hapa haole! His quiet words rang 
with such sincerity and there was such a wealth of 
verisimilitude about his inventions that the skipper, 
in his certainty that she must believe him, felt almost 
inclined to pity poor Curly! 

Then he veered about at the cabin skylight, to 
find Mr. Kroderen, the mate of the unfortunate 
Taritari, already on his quarter-deck and approach¬ 
ing him. A hurt, indignant expression was evident 
upon the man’s broad Norwegian face as on a mirror, 
and instantly the skipper sensed heavy weather! 
But before he could turn his head to wink a signal 
to Harbottle to whisk the girl below, the mate had 
overhauled him. 

“ Beg pardon, sir,” he said, saluting, “ but I 
understand you raised the Johnston Islands this 
morning!” 

What to answer had never before been such a 
tremendous question to Ham Yardley. His jaw went 
slack as he gazed at the open-faced and righteously 
indignant sailor; then, fearfully his eyes shifted to 
the girl. 


190 


SEA PLUNDER 


In the tension of that moment when the roar of 
the try-furnace was like the overtone of a great organ 
in his ears, and he could catch the slightest thud 
of dipper or mincing knife beneath it, he had sud¬ 
denly heard a fluttering sound like the winging of 
birds, and now he saw the reason. Clare O’Brine 
had lifted her head so sharply in astonishment that 
the magazine she had been using as a sunshade 
had slipped off her head and down, with a snapping 
of pages, into the lazily heaving Pacific. 

She was looking at him with wide hazel eyes, her 
lips slightly parted, her whole soul hanging on his 
answer. Even with Harbottle’s aid, the skipper 
perceived there was no chance now of inveigling 
her below and out of hearing. She had heard enough, 
too much, already! 

“ Who tole you this?” he turned challengingly 
back to the mate. 

“ I was warned, sir, not to tell. But not through 
fear of you, sir, beggin’ your pardon,” at the sudden 
significant look in the skipper’s eyes. “ The poor 
fellers what told me said you couldn’t do no worse 
to them than you’d done! They was afraid, though, 
you’d try to discredit them, once you found out.” 

Yardley knew then from whom he had received 
the information. 

“ So you’ve bin gammin’ with the prisoners, Mr. 
Kroderen! ” accusingly. “ Don’t you know I’ve 
issued strict orders ag’in that very thing!” 

The mate was all at once apologetic. 

“ I wasn’t aware of them orders, sir,” he explained. 
“ I had just grabbed a snack of lunch, down in the 
191 


SEA PLUNDER 


harpooners’ mess, and was makin’ up the passage 
to see how my two men were gettin’ along in the fore¬ 
peak. It was the first time I felt strong enough, sir, 
to look ’em up. But just abaft the fo’c’s’le, I a’most 
stumbled over these two chaps who were sittin’ there 
in the dark, shackled to the deck.” 

“ Wasn’t the sunlight streaming in on the pas¬ 
sageway?” interrupted Harbottle. He had left the 
girl’s side and drawn step by step closer to the 
two until the interposition of cabin skylight had 
stopped further approach. 

The mate looked at him, made thus aware of his 
presence. He noted the white jacket of his office 
and, with that age-old contempt of the sailor for 
any landlubber aboard, decided to ignore the ques¬ 
tion. Indeed, his expressive blue eyes swung back 
to the skipper as if fully expecting him to show 
resentment! 

But Yardley welcomed the query in that it 
appeared to cast a doubt on the veracity of the 
man’s story. 

“ You’re right, Faunt — steward!” he agreed. 
“ My steward here,” he explained, “ also looked in 
on them mutineers some time afore you did.” 

“ But it was noon, sir,” objected the Norwegian, 
flushing under his tan like a boy. “ And you’d 
hardly expect sunlight to be streamin’ through a 
porthole when Old Sol himself is standin’ directly 
overhead! ” 

“ Quite right, Mr. Kroderen,” nodded Yardley. 
“ But where was the carpenter meantime?” 

It was less a question than food for the man’s 
192 


SEA PLUNDER 


yarn. Yardley was only too willing that the mate 
should continue to converse and thus allow him 
further moments to think up his reply and pursuant 
course of action. “ Chips, you know/’ he added, 
“ is supposed to be in charge of them mutineers, 
seein’ to it no one speaks to them.” 

The mate hesitated. Little expecting this odd 
reception, he was feeling more and more uncertain 
of himself. 

“ Well, sir, it was this way,” he began again. 
“ The young curly-haired chap put his finger to his 
lips, when he made me out, and then crawled over 
a bit and peeked into the carpenter shop. The 
door was halfway open. 

“ 4 Chips seems asleep/ he says, grinnin’, 1 so if 
you’ll sit down with us, Mr. Kroderen,’ callin’ me by 
name, seemin’ to know me, ‘ I think we can tell you 
somethin’ to your interest.’ ” 

“ Darn that Chips, he’s alius snoozin’!” muttered 
Yardley to himself. Aloud, unwilling to halt the 
yarn, he encouraged: “Wal, sing up, sir! What 
did he tell you?” 

The Norwegian looked puzzled. As he continued 
to stare, however, he seemed to read the captain’s 
purpose. 

“ Why, what I’ve just said, sir,” he retorted — 
and waited. 

But Yardley realized, with each repetition, the 
question would naturally lose force. Not yet ready 
to commit himself, his answer still unframed, he 
caused the mate to speak on. 

“ And that was, sir?” lifting his brows quizzically. 

193 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Oh, that you raised the Johnstons this dawn!” 
burst out the honest fellow, angrily. “ And that 
when the agent at the tradin’-post signaled you, you 
answered you had seen nothin’ of the lifeboat con¬ 
tainin’ myself, the two hands and this young lady!” 
And he bowed toward the girl, who had risen to her 
feet. 

Captain Yardley glared at him. Again it was 
out; once more was he facing the issue, and still 
he didn’t know what to say! But he was quick 
to notice that the outraged mate appeared only half 
finished, his lips quivering as if on the verge of 
adding something. Yardley took this as his chance 
for further hedging. 

“ That all?” he pressed. 

But once again and most strangely, the mate 
seemed hesitant. 

“ Well, sir,” he stammered, “ I natchally believed 
the curly-haired fellow because the other chap, the 
big Kanaka, agreed with him in everythin’— I think 
he called him Sheewood,” going off on a tangent, as 
if fighting for self-control. “ But I dassent say 
what more they told me, sir,” pleadingly. “ Don’t 

ask me, ’cause I don’t want to raise false hopes-” 

And significantly his eyes again sought out Clare 
O’Brine. She came forward, as though drawn by 
that solicitous look in his honest eyes. 

“ There is something else?” she asked softly, 
pausing beside Harbottle on the opposite side of the 
skylight. “ What is it, Mr. Kroderen? Please don’t 
spare me! You have heard something — about that 
other lifeboat — my father?” 

194 



SEA PLUNDER 


He nodded, with evident unwillingness. 

“ It’s only hearsay with me, ma’m,” he qualified. 
“ But Sheewood and that Kanaka both said they 
had seen, with their own eyes, a lifeboat drawn up 
on the sand!” 

“ Then you mean-” 

“ Yes, ma’m, that your father, Capt’n Wainwright 
and the others are all safe at the comp’ny post on 
the Johnston Islands!” 


195 



CHAPTER XXX 


Harbottle waited for no more. One look at the 
blank face of the skipper, and he knew the situation 
was beyond Yardley’s feeble wits to encompass. 
One look at the girl and he could see her mentally 
leaping from doubt to certainty, from joy to bitter 
resentment at them. The battle was strictly up to 
him. As though born of the momentary silence, his 
voice came silkily, gathering strength as it went 
along. 

“He’s a desperate man,” he said, “ a desperate, 
unscrupulous man, just as I’ve been telling Miss 
O’Brine!” 

But he didn’t so much as glance at the girl; he 
gazed full and meaningly at the skipper. 

“ Aye,” nodded that personage, little knowing who 
was meant but willing to do the expected thing and 
subscribe to anything the wily hapa haole might say. 
“ A desp’rate bad man!” wetting his lips and thank¬ 
ing Harbottle for the interruption with his ratty, 
driven eyes. 

“ Who?” exclaimed the mate, turning sharply 
from one to the other. “ Me? This young lady’s 
father? Say, what do you mean!” to Harbottle. 

But the spell was broken, their minds groping in 
a new channel, and the diplomatic steward could 
afford to shake his head slowly, almost commiserat- 
ingly. 


196 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ No,” he said at last. “ Sherwood! And it’s a 
lie, all rank lies, every last word that fellow told 
you. He’s a desperate man, as I said — even as 
I’ve just finished telling Miss O’Brine here!” And 
he bowed toward the girl. 

But she was too nonplused to say anything, so 
fighting for position, he switched suddenly back to 
the mate. 

“ Pardon me for asking, Mr. Kroderen,” he said, 
“ but do you happen to know precisely why that 
fellow was put down there and shackled to the 
deck like a wild animal?” 

The mate shook his head. Sherwood had been too 
modest to speak of his own activity and, sure of 
his ground thereat, Harbottle raced on: 

“ Well, it’s because he’s just that — a wild animal! 
He’s down there, not for a simple breach of disci¬ 
pline as you might have thought — Oh, no! But 
let me tell you the whole tale.” 

He glanced toward the skipper as if fearful he 
might wish to interrupt. But Yardley was as much 
in the dark as any of them and was only too anxious 
to leave their final extrication in his steward’s adroit 
hands. 

“ On account of the pressure of work about the 
cabin,” he began again, cool and collectedly, “ Sher¬ 
wood returned to duty as acting steward this morn¬ 
ing. About sunrise, Captain Yardley was startled 
to find him trying to open the door of his state¬ 
room. The captain had gallantly given up his room 
to Miss O’Brine, and Sherwood, as acting steward, 
knew that. But when Captain Yardley accused 
197 


SEA PLUNDER 


him of seeking to break in on the young lady, he 
denied the impeachment, saying he thought the cap¬ 
tain was asleep in there and that he was only bent 
on arousing him because a reef had been reported 
from the deck. 

“ Captain Yardley knew the man better than to 
take his word,” with significant emphasis. “ He had 
him clapped in irons accordingly and it was then, 
while Sherwood was being led across the deck, that 
this crazy Kanaka, Sam, tried to help him out! 

“ Sam said afterward that Sherwood had been 
good to him, giving him cubes of sugar pilfered from 
the cabin table. But it’s my honest belief that 
Sherwood hypnotized this big, good-natured and 
simple-minded Marshall Islander!” 

He paused to allow the statement to sink in. 

“ As I was saying,” he went on, “ it’s my idea that 
Sherwood flashed with his eyes a command to the 
Kanaka to interfere with those two men leading him. 
At any rate, the poor Polynesian acted as if running 
amuck. He leaped upon the two men, biting, kick¬ 
ing and screaming in a frenetic fury and when 
Mr. Carthew, who was supervising the imprison¬ 
ment, sought to interpose, the Kanaka was so wild 
by then he didn’t care whom he hit, but struck out 
madly at the first mate! 

“ Mr. Carthew still bears evidence of those blows 
in his discolored right eye, as you’ll notice the next 
time you see him,” he pointed out realistically. 
“ And as for the tussle, it finally developed into a 
matter for all hands, at least of the entire watch on 
deck,” he modified, “ and even then we had all we 
198 


SEA PLUNDER 


could do to get the two of them down and shackled 
to that passageway below!” 

“ But did you raise a reef, as that chap reported, 
when caught at the stateroom door?” burst out the 
mate. His broad, honest face was sweating with his 
mental perturbation, and his frank blue eyes were 
roving from one to the other as if uncertain now 
whom to address, the flunky or the master. 

But here was a question within the peculiar prov¬ 
ince of the skipper. Harbottle realized that if he 
should shoulder the burden of answering, the mate, 
out of his undoubted knowledge of the sea, might trip 
him up and make a boomerang of his whole story. 
As it was, he felt none too sure of the reception of 
his tale, so he bowed in deference to the captain. 

“ It was a reef, wasn’t it, sir?” he suggested 
pointedly. 

The skipper was forced to speak. 

“ Aye,” he said, a bit hesitantly, a not an island, 
but a circle of coral with some rocks lumpin’ up in 
it, partly above water and partly awash, ringed with 
breakers and showin’ the green water of shoals 
quite a ways out.” 

Harbottle nodded encouragement. 

“ And that’s what gave Sherwood,” he could not 
help adding, “ the idea about the Johnstons!” 

“ But it wasn’t them, the Johnstons?” persisted 
the mate. 

“ No,” the steward shook his lean head sadly. 
“It was an unmarked reef — isn’t that right, sir?” 
appealing once more to the skipper. “ Didn’t you 
try to find it on the chart without success?” 

199 


SEA PLUNDER 


Yardley knew then what was expected of him. 

“ Aye/’ he replied with surety. “ You know,” 
explaining to the mate, “when that reef was re¬ 
ported, I didn’t know where we was. We had been 
in a gale for three days — the same what blew you 
on that shoal — on’y it wasn’t no dry gale, not by 
any means! It rained a-plenty and with the sky over¬ 
cast, hidin’ the sun, I couldn’t take no sights, on’y 
run before it. 

“ Then the day afore you come aboard,” he went 
on, “ jest arter dawn, we got ‘ Ah, blow!’ from the 
masthead, and lowered away and brought in three 
whoppers. It was tricin’-up and cuttin’-in and b’ilin’- 
out then, from dawn to darkness and through the 
night, and I didn’t git nary a chance to use my 
sextant and determine my fix until this mornin’. 

“ But this mornin’ when that reef was reported,” 
he ended, “ it was plumb up to me to find it on the 
chart and I jest had to git a sight in order to jedge 
my whereabouts on all that white paper-” 

“ And you found, sir?” pressed the mate, as the 
captain paused, his brow wrinkling as though under 
stress of some unusual mental calculation. 

“ Hoh, I found we was in about latitoode fourteen, 
thirty nor’, and along the line of one-sevinty-four 
west!” naming a latitude and longitude several 
degrees to the west and south of where they really 
were. “ The nearest bit of ground was Schjetnan 
Reef, but that was all of two hundert and fifty 
miles from our then position — so the reported reef 
couldn’t have been that!” 

“ But where is it now, that reef?” asked the mate, 
200 



SEA PLUNDER 


and he looked, with sudden perplexity, from the 
lashed wheel on the quarter-deck up to the reefed 
topsails. “ You’re hove-to, sir, and from what you 
say, you’ve been rounded-to here for the last forty- 
eight hours and more!” 

Captain Yardley grinned. 

“A natchal mistake, Mr. Kroderen! Fact is, 
you’re makin’ the same mistake I did, the same 
beef any good seaman might make! To all appear¬ 
ances we are hove-to and anchored, to boot, by them 
two whoppin’ whales draggin’ over the side. But 
let me remind you of one thing, sir — that nor’ 
equatorial current what has a westerly set at times 
in these waters of anywheres from ten to fifty miles 
a day!” 

“ You’ve logged it, sir?” 

But Yardley was prepared for him, now, at every 
point. 

“ Aye,” he nodded agreeably, “ when that reef 
was fust reported ’cause I couldn’t see how it was we 
were overhaulin’ it. And I found we was makin’ 
westin’ at the rate of two knots per hour, or all of 
twinty-four miles betoon each dawn and darkness! 
Naow what do you think of that, sir?” 

The mate’s answer was a bit unexpected in its 
sweeping inclusiveness. 

“ I’m only a poor sailor, sir,” he replied, with 
honest humility, “ but if the young lady here,” bow¬ 
ing to the girl, “ believes your explanations, Capt’n, 
I see no reason for such as me to hold cont’ry 
views! ” 


201 


CHAPTER XXXI 


“ Spoken like a man!” exclaimed Yardley, before 
the girl could voice an opinion, one way or the other. 
He seemed, all at once, sure of himself. 

“ Now, Kroderen,” obviously dropping the mister, 
“ you’ll continue to bunk aft in the steerage with the 
harpooners; but I can’t rate you as one of ’em 
because that might lead to jealousy and what’s more, 
you don’t know whalin’. But you do know seaman¬ 
ship, no doubt, and I’m short-handed for a sail- 
maker, havin’ lost my larst one in a fight with 
another whaleship off the Bonims,” which was the 
truth. “ So if it’s agreeable to you and you’ll under¬ 
take to fill the billet, I’ll pay you sailmaker’s wages 
till I put you ashore.” 

“ And when will that be, sir, beggin’ your pardon?” 

“ Oh, jest as soon as we raise the fust decent land¬ 
fall, as I’ve promised Miss O’Brine here. But 
there’s nothin’ betoon us and the Marshalls save on’y 
Schjetnan Reef, which I’ve spoke of, and Rene and 
Rional Reefs which we’ll prob’ly sight, one or t’other, 
within a few days. That is, if we drift a little nor’ 
of west,” he added hastily, to make allowance for 
the gross disparity between where they truly were 
and where he had falsely stated their position. 

“ But you won’t maroon us on them sand-spits, 
sir!” objected the mate, his face lengthening. 

Yardley laughed, apparently at the idea. 

“Hardly!” he agreed. “ But once we git these 
202 


SEA PLUNDER 


whales all flenched and b’iled out, Kroderen, we’ll 
head for a season of humpbackin’ among the Mar¬ 
shalls. They’re prime breedin’-grounds for old 
blowhard, them shallows where they can’t sound 
deep. And thar, on one of the peopled atolls, my 
man, I’ll be glad to put you ashore with money in 
your jeans for work done!” 

The mate’s broad Norwegian face brightened. 

“ Thank you kindly, sir. It all sounds mighty 
fair to me, and I’ll certainly do my level best to 
fill that sailmaker’s berth. But-” and he hesi¬ 

tated, his countenance losing its brightness like a 
mirror suddenly fogged with breath. 

“ But what now, my lad, what’s on your mind?” 

“ Well, sir, it’s just like this,” hesitantly. “ I 
don’t know how my two men will take it all. They 
delegated me, as the mate, to speak to you, sir, once 
I told them what those two prisoners had said. I 
wish,” he added, with an appealing glance at Har- 
bottle, who was whispering an aside to the girl, “ I 
only wish your steward might lend me a hand, sir, 
to explain matters with his fine words! ” 

“ But lackin’ that, Kroderen,” objected Yardley 
sharply, “ you’ll show ’em how the land lays as best 
you can. Then haul them aft here where I myself 
will proceed to p’int out which way the wind’s 
headin’!” 

The skipper felt he could ill afford to spare Har- 
bottle from his side at that moment. Already the 
wily hapa haole, as he escorted Miss O’Brine back 
to the cushioned seat, was purring into her ears 
low-voiced garnishments to his story about Sher- 
203 


SEA PLUNDER 


wood. The skipper tried to eavesdrop, while appar¬ 
ently only intent on watching the mate make slowly 
and dubiously forward. 

When the three male survivors of the Taritari 
bobbed up out of the fo’c’s’le scuttle, however, 
Yardley was quick to note that the two seamen 
were hanging behind the mate, scowling fiercely at 
his back and muttering together. He realized that, 
receiving their information second-hand as they had, 
without the benefit of his own nautical dogmatism 
and Harbottle’s suavity of word and manner, they 
had put small faith in the explanations. He sensed 
a squall and hastened forward to meet them, amid- 
ship, where the expected pyrotechnics of the encoun¬ 
ter would be less liable to be overheard from the 
afterdeck. 

“ Kroderen,” he addressed the mate, while care¬ 
fully sizing up the two glum men, “ you’ll lend the 
cooper a hand, settin’ up casks and keepin’ all gear 
sharpened and shipshape!” 

The mate looked shocked at being put to such 
work after having just been promised a different 
billet. But Captain Yardley hesitated to show his 
favoritism before those two suspicious sailors. 

“ Oh, I knows how you feel, Kroderen,” he said 
hastily. “ But that’s all right when we’re cruisin’; 
jest now, while we’re lyin’-to, there’s no need of a 
sailmaker. Besides,” he pointed out, “ the cooper 
ain’t had no relief since Chips was sent below to 
guard them mutineers. So you’ll lay yourself out 
now to turnin’ the grindstone or clappin’ onto bellows 
or mallet, as Bungs sees fit! 

204 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Arter you’ve ketched on a bit, though,” he went 
on to add mollifyingly, “ I’ll have Mr. Moseby, in 
charge of your watch, set you to helpin’ the har- 
pooners dip out the ile into that copper coolin’- 
tank to stabboard. But jest now,” he ended, with 
crafty regard, “ there’s no sense in a green hand 
like you riskin’ your skin, bailin’ out that sizzlin’ 
fat!” 

He explained matters thus fully for a certain 
effect, and it was not solely to appease Kroderen. 
He had judged from the sullen attitude of the two 
men that they were in rebellious mood, and he 
wanted to show them that, while they were seamen, 
still there was nothing for them to do but turn to as 
whalers. Above all, with Miss O’Brine no doubt 
looking on from the afterdeck, he did not desire to 
run foul of these two, particularly after his recent 
and rather disastrous experience with that other pair, 
Sherwood and Sam! 

Kroderen, for one, quickly stomached his chagrin. 
Honest himself and therefore expecting only honesty 
from others, he was naturally taken in by the skip¬ 
per’s apparent solicitude for his welfare as an inex¬ 
perienced grease-handler. He was only too eager 
to evince willingness in return and do what he could. 
Promptly he moved off to report to Bungs, making 
into that section of the forward deck which, clut¬ 
tered with barrels, staves and rusty hoops, looked 
like a brewery yard. 

Yardley swung sharply upon the others, once he 
was out of the way. 

“ You two,” he said, his manner changing, “ git 
205 


SEA PLUNDER 


down that hatchway and l’arn your dooties from 
them fellers in the blubber-room! ” 

But the two sailors remained as they were, their 
shoulders scraping as though for comfort in their 
distress, or a feeling of strength in their rebellion. 

“ Git down thar smartly afore I knock you down! ” 
was wrenched from Yardley, and though he disliked 
using bucko tactics at that time, yet was he forced 
to make a show of advancing upon them, his right 
hand clenched and half lifted at his side. 

But a bluff only works when one is resigned to go 
the limit to carry it through. Keyed up as they 
undoubtedly were, the men must have sensed a cer¬ 
tain falseness in the captain’s attitude. They prob¬ 
ably read in those gimlet eyes his real distaste for 
this bruising business. Instead of obeying or even 
retreating, therefore, the man called Carlin took a 
step directly forward to meet the skipper! 

“ We’re sailors, not butchers, sir,” he said, surlily. 
“ We’re willin’ to do sea duty, but not this!” and 
he jerked his thumb back toward the open hatch, 
his face puckered with repugnance. 

Yardley dropped his flexed right arm; the man’s 
words had given his mind a new tack. 

“ Sailors, eh?” he repeated. “ You want sea 
dooty, yes? Wal, I’ll give you all the sea dooty and 
sea room you want!” 

He turned to the second mate, standing nearby in 
charge of the watch then on deck. 

“ Hey, Mr. Moseby!” he called. “ Pipe a coupla 
hands to rig overside that lifeboat thar!” And he 
pointed at the craft under the tarpaulin on deck. 

206 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ But that’s the one from the Taritari, sir!” 

“ Sartinly, the very one they came in — it’s in 
our way, anyhow! Strip off that tarpaulin! But 
fust,” he added, “ ship a breaker of water and keg 
of biscuits in the cuddy. Here you, Rope-Yarn,” 
to an elderly man at the mincer, “ lay off them Bible- 
leaves and git those kegs I named outa my own 
boat aft! Can’t let you go grubless,” he ended, with 
a sly grin, to the waiting men, “ though that’s the 
way you came to me and it ’ud be no more’n fair!” 

The sullen twain returned his grin with slowly 
lengthening faces. Then began to perceive what he 
was about and they had small liking for the pros¬ 
pect. But on account of the sudden switch from his 
previous mode of threatening, they thought Yardley 
might be a bluffer down to his arctics and that this, 
in the end, might prove only another ruse! 

The skipper, however, realized their opinion of 
him and resented it. He was fully determined now, 
if forced to the issue, to see the thing through and 
actually cast them adrift in the lifeboat. 

“ Take a turn about the nose and starn!” he 
ordered the men Moseby had delegated to lower the 
boat. “ Now slide it down that port flank into the 
water! Easy, Mr. Petrie, easy on your end; do you 
want to drop her bow under and swamp her! That’s 
well! ” 

He veered round from the bulwark and made 
toward the two. 

“ Now overside you go,” he said, “ and git outa 
here in the same shape you came! I’ll have no 
more mutineers aboard this grease-bobber, doin’ 
207 


SEA PLUNDER 


nothin’ but eatin’ my chow! Move along thar!” 
And he gave each a solid shove toward the port 
rail. 

But looking down at that frail, tiny craft, lifting 
and falling like a toy on the long lazy swells of the 
Pacific, the men were all at once reminded of the 
days they had drifted about in it, now the sport of 
the storm, now flayed by a merciless sun, their 
throats and every pore parched with thirst, their eyes 
aching for sight of land or ship. 

“No, no!” cried the sailor whose name Yardley 
did not, as yet, know. He pushed himself back from 
the rail, despite the skipper’s forcing hand on his 
shoulder. “ I’ve suffered enough in that small boat, 
sir, too much!” And he shuddered from head to 
foot. 

“ It’s either plenty of sea-room or this ile-dooty, 
as I said!” insisted Yardley, and he grinned behind 
their backs. He appeared suddenly to be enjoying 
his own cleverness. “ Which will you have?” he 
ended, snatching a look aft. 

“ Oh, no small boat for me, sir, please! ” begged 
the sailor almost hysterically. 

“ We’ll turn to, Capt’n,” said Carlin in subdued 
voice. 

“All right, my hearties!” bellowed Yardley 
promptly, for the benefit of those ears on the after¬ 
deck. “ Turn to as you’ve agreed and earn your 
passage and grub, and everything will be hunky- 
dory!” 

There was no further remonstrance from the two. 
Sheepishly they slunk below to learn the greasy 
208 


SEA PLUNDER 


duties of the blubber-room from Evans and his 
instructor. 

“Trail that lifeboat astarn!” ordered Yardley, 
still grinning. “ Can’t have it clutterin’ the deck 
no more, while there’s work goin’ on.” And he made 
aft to recount the incident lopsidedly and show what 
a great boy he was! 


209 


CHAPTER XXXII 


“ Bart Collins,” said Yardley to the old chantey- 
leader when, at four o’clock that afternoon, the 
larbowlines tumbled up on deck — “ pass the word 
to Chips to unshackle the prisoners and lead ’em 
aft into the blubber-room. Capt’n’s orders, tell him, 
and lend him a hand. Have Chips bar the door of 
the passage behind him when he leaves you with 
the mutineers below; you kin show them what to 
do down thar. But don’t haul ’em up on deck; use 
the passageway. I don’t want to parade them 
mutineers in the daylight,” he ended, with a glance 
aft, “ and disturb that pore young lady readin’ 
there on the signal-locker!” 

The weazened gray-beard touched his forelock and 
dropped back down the fo’c’s’le ladder. In short 
order, Yardley, waiting above at the main hatch, 
heard the door into the blubber-room below bang 
open, then close more easily with a grating of the 
bar bolting it from the passage. He caught Col¬ 
lins’s voice, instructing the two prisoners how to cut 
the long blankets into horse pieces with the short- 
handled spades. 

“ And here’s another gadget for you,” came in the 
tottering voice of the aged pedagogue. “ When night 
comes on, even with those cressets flarin’ up on deck, 
it’s shaddery dark down here. But you see that 
bundle of rope-yarns? Wal, take one of ’em, rub it 
on a strip of blubber into a round wick, then cut a 
hole in a blanket and coil that greased strand in the 
210 


SEA PLUNDER 


socket and light it. As it burns, it’ll have all that 
blanket to draw on for ile, and the only trouble will 
come when the wick burns down to a cinder and 
you have to pervide a new one. But two or three 
of them blazin’ all to once will make this hell-hole 
as bright as day!” 

Whether the mutineers answered with more than 
a nod, the listening captain could not tell. He could 
hear no sound of their voices, and it struck him 
as odd and a bit ominous, their strange quietude. 
However, he did cjatch a glimpse of the gian't 
Kanaka as Sam bent his shoulder for the old man 
to step therefrom up out of the hatch. 

“ Everything okeh, Collins?” he asked, uneasily. 
“ The prisoners know their dooty and all?” 

“Aye, aye, sir!” 

“ Wal, then, turn to everybody and set things a- 
humpin’! ” 

But moments passed, and no horse pieces of blub¬ 
ber came hurtling up out of the hatch to land on the 
coaming. The mincing-trough was empty; the boil¬ 
ing oil was finding low and lower levels in the try- 
pots, as the harpooners baled it out into the copper 
cooling cistern to starboard. Everything was wait¬ 
ing on the blubber-room. 

For a time, as he paced amidships and kneaded 
his hands behind his back, Captain Yardley tried to 
excuse the tardiness on the score of the mutineers 
being green hands in the blubber-room. But he felt 
the eyes of the idle men upon him, and he could not 
down the anxious perception that something was in 
the wind. 


211 


SEA PLUNDER 


He stepped up, at last, to the coaming and peered 
down. There was no one in sight, no thud of cutting 
spades below — only a smell of burning tobacco 
mixing with the reek of blubber as if the prisoners 
were sitting by, under cover of the deck-boards, 
calmly puffing cigarettes! 

“ Ahoy, below thar! ” he shouted. “ What in ’ell’s 
the idee?” 

“ Oh, nothing much, sir, only we’ve gone on 
strike!” clipped back the well-remembered tones of 
Sherwood. “ We haven’t had a square meal, only 
hard-tack and water, since breakfast this dawning; 
that’s a good many hours ago, sir, and we simply 
can’t work on empty stomachs!” 

“ Wal, you’re not too weak to smoke, I see! ” 
retorted Yardley, helplessly. He felt it somehow 
futile to threaten. “ Tighten your belts and turn 
to!” 

“ But you forget it’s a strike, sir!” rejoined that 
audacious voice. “ It’s a clear case of no eats, no 
work, sir, begging your pardon for the effrontery of 
such action, sir, and thanking you profoundly for 
your kind attention! How’s that, big boy?” in an 
aside to Sam that yet was loud enough for the watch 
on deck to hear. 

A murmuring chuckle went up from the men, and 
Captain Yardley fumed. He realized Sherwood was 
“ boobing ” him, as the slang has it, before half his 
crew! 

“ Portalegre!” he blared at the third mate; and 
as the swart, bearded fellow came a-running, he 
added, still as crafty as ever for all his anger, “ Them 
212 


SEA PLUNDER 


mutineers claim they’re dyin’ with hunger — it’ll 
be a cinch for you, Port! Drop below and give ’em 
a taste of your fists for food!” 

But remembering the gigantic Islander and his 
set-to of that morning, Portalegre hung back. 

“ I think it’s up to you, sir,” he attempted to pass 
the buck. “ Why not hurl a harpoon down thar, on 
the bare chance of nippin’ them, or better, make 
round the passage and prod ’em to work with your 
gat!” 

“Fine!” exclaimed Sherwood from under cover 
below. “ Shoot and be damned to you, Yardley! 
But remember, old socks, if you pingle anybody, 
you’ll have to have Harbottle think up a stronger 
yarn than ever to explain away the gory results to 
Miss O’Brine! Oh, I’ve got you where the hair’s 
short, Ham; I know all about you and your lying 
steward! Don’t think I’ve been shackled close to 
the fo’c’s’le door, all day, without hearing anything 
but the crew snoring and eating! You’ve got a few 
more hands to deal with aboard this grease-tank, 
Yardley, and I’d go slow, if I were you, about forc¬ 
ing the showdown! ” 

This was too much for the skipper — for any cap¬ 
tain of a ship for that matter, if he wanted still to 
remain master of his ship. Sherwood and Sam were 
in open rebellion and what was worse, were holding 
him up to contumely before his men. Something 
must be done, and done drastically and with dis¬ 
patch! Yardley strode aft, growling in his chest, 
bent on recovering his revolver from his bedhead and 
making round, with it, into the blubber-room! 

213 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


But in order to get the weapon, Yardley found he 
would have to ask Miss O’Brine for the key to the 
stateroom he had relinquished to her. He had en¬ 
tered the alleyway and tried the door, but it was 
locked. He returned back up the ladder and beck¬ 
oned Harbottle from her side. The steward fairly 
leaped in one bound across the deck from flag- 
locker to companionway. 

Once back in the cabin, in his awkward depend¬ 
ence on the steward, Yardley was forced to explain 
the situation fully. But he warned the hapa haole 
against divulging the true state of affairs to the girl. 

“ Just tell her you want the key to git in and 
freshen up the room, or somethin’,” he advised. 

He was taken aback, accordingly, when Clare 
O’Brine burst in on him, three minutes later, fol¬ 
lowed closely by the alarmed steward. Harbottle 
had found her talking to the first mate. She had 
noticed the excited inactivity amidships and, with 
the disappearance of steward and that grumbling 
bear of a captain, she had rushed forward to quiz the 
blackened-eyed Carthew. She appeared highly agi¬ 
tated now. 

“ Oh, Captain!” she exclaimed, her voice fluting 
like a bird’s from her white, palpitating throat, “ Mr. 
Carthew told me you had gone for your gun; but 
you won’t do that, will you! You’ll give those poor 
fellows something to eat, please do!” adding the 
214 


SEA PLUNDER 


appeal of her velvety hazel eyes, “ and then perhaps 
they’ll obey orders and go back to work! But no 
matter how bad they may be, you can’t expect them 

to labor when they’re so weak from hunger-” 

“Weak, nothin’!” growled Yardley. “They’re 
not so weak but what Portalegre wouldn’t take a 
chance goin’ down thar and tacklin’ them! ” 

“ But that’s wrong, sir, to use force! Why,” in 
swift surprise, “ I thought the day of brute force 
was gone forever from the sea!” 

The skipper couldn’t help it; he chuckled sig¬ 
nificantly. It might even be surmised that he was 
enjoying all this entreaty from so fair a suppliant! 

“ Well, if that’s the way you feel about it, Captain 
Yardley,” said the girl, provoked, her lower lip quiv¬ 
ering, “ I’m afraid I’ll just have to refuse you the 
key! But you won’t drive me to that, will you, 
Captain?” with tremulous pleading, her eyes going 
misty. “ You’ll do your best, sir, to give them a 
little food, and then if they still refuse to work, 
maybe then I’ll be able to see your side of it and 
relinquish the key! But you’ll try your good offices 
first, Captain, won’t you, please!” 

“ And what,” spoke up Yardley with sudden crude 

boldness, “ what will you do for me-” 

He paused sharply; the girl had lifted her head. 
For a guilty moment, he thought it was in imperious 
anger at his proposed insult. Then he noticed that 
her frail, translucent nostrils were breathing rapidly, 
excitedly, in and out. 

“ What is it?” he gasped — and almost with the 
words, was aware that the membrane of his own 
215 




SEA PLUNDER 


nose seemed tingling with some subtle but insistent 
perfume. 

She paid him no heed. Tiny blond head tilted, 
white brow furrowed, delicate nostrils a-quiver, she 
appeared to be striving to ascertain the peculiar 
property of that aroma, to associate it with odors 
she knew and thus learn its tantalizing source. 

“ It’s like a dust of pollen,” she mused, “ like the 
smoke of incense!” 

“ Only more earthy,” said Harbottle, in what 
sounded like a sigh rather than a distinct articula¬ 
tion. “ Fresh and budding like a whiff of spring I 
Don’t you get it, sir?” 

Yardley nodded, sniffing like a bird-dog. 

“ It’s everywhere,” he said, his husky tones a dis¬ 
turbing element. “ The air is thick with it, the old 
grease-tank fair a-float in it!” 

“ Why,” breathed the girl excitedly, “ it’s as if we 
were approaching one of the fabled spice isles!” 

They could hear from on deck sounds of commo¬ 
tion, but it all seemed far away in the delicious 
thickness of the air. Gone was the salty breath of 
ocean, the heavy reek of oil and acrid smell of burn¬ 
ing blubber from the waist. That exquisite frag¬ 
rance wrapped them round and was drunk in by 
every prinkling pore. They were like lotus-eaters, 
bathing in some perfumed ambient, drugged and list¬ 
less, respiring their words. 

“ Ambergrease, sir!” came roaring down the com¬ 
panion in the voice of Carthew. “ Two mottled 
gray lumps, sir, floatin’ beside that cow in a mess of 
guts and divvil-fish! I’ve ordered them brought 
216 


SEA PLUNDER 


aboard, sir. They must have bin dislodged from 
that cow’s belly by them sharks cuttin’ in!” 

“ Ambergris!” repeated Harbottle, and “ Gawd!” 
ejaculated Yardley. He clenched his great ham of a 
hand, but let it remain knotted upon the table while 
he glared at them, wild-eyed. “ A forchune, I’ll bet, 
thousands and thousands of dollars!” He staggered 
afoot and went stumbling and reeling along the alley- 
way, pursued by the steward. 


217 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


Left alone, Clare O’Brine made to follow them; 
then at the foot of the companion, where a door 
gave under the ladder on to the steerage forward, she 
hesitated as with sudden recollection. She listened. 
There was no sound from the glory hole ahead; the 
mates and harpooners had probably all made on 
deck in the general excitement of the discovery. She 
looked back along the alleyway. But she was indeed 
alone and free at last from the constant espionage of 
Harbottle. 

She swung open the door to the steerage. There 
was no one there. The bunks were all empty and 
the flaps of a deal table, scrubbed to whiteness by 
sharkskin, stood raised between the stanchions in 
the center, with plates laid for six. These six were 
no doubt the vanished afterguard of the starboard 
watch: Moseby and Petrie, their two boat-steerers, 
and Bungs and Kroderen, who had been relieved by 
Chips, now that the carpenter was finished guard 
duty. Their plates were still smoking with hot food, 
and she was surprised, upon drawing near, to find it 
corned-beef hash; but she had failed to detect the 
steaming aroma in the predominant odor of amber¬ 
gris. 

She did not know that the hash differed a bit from 
plain fo’c’s’le fare in containing, also, a succotash of 
raisins and canned peas from the cabin larder. The 
knowledge probably wouldn’t have mattered for, 
218 


SEA PLUNDER 


womanlike, she appeared only concerned in finding 
two helpings that had not yet been attacked! 

Fortunately for her feminine sensibilities, and 
perhaps to the loss of Bungs and Kroderen who had 
been last to be relieved, she succeeded in her search 
and, with a heaped-up plate in either hand, went on 
toward the door leading into the passageway forward. 

The passage proved narrow and dark. Even here, 
in the interior of the ship, the pervading odor pene¬ 
trated. It was rather cloying in that confined space, 
this mixture of the wholesome smell of food under 
her nose with that exotic perfume of the ambergris; 
but buoyed by her errand of mercy, she held stoutly 
on. 

The door into the blubber-room she distinguished 
by the fact that it was barred from the passage. 
She put down one of the plates upon the deck and, 
with a slight, grating sound, lifted the bar. She was 
bending over to recover the plate when the door was 
suddenly swung inboard. 

There was a burst of daylight from the revealed 
hatch above and she saw, standing inside the sill, 
Sherwood and the giant Marshall Islander, each with 
a short-handled spade thrust menacingly toward 
her! 

“Oh!” she cried, and drew affrightedly back 
against the far wall of the passage. 

“Well, Til be — but excuse me, please; I didn’t 
know — I had no idea — we hardly expected — you 
— of all persons! ” stammered Sherwood. He stared 
almost stupidly from her to the steaming plates. He 
forgot, in his stupefaction, to lower the spade. 

219 


SEA PLUNDER 


As if to remind him, Sam grounded his weapon. 

“ We thought you was Cap Yardley!” he rumbled, 
with a mellow grin. 

She nodded. She wanted to say that the skipper 
was on deck; she could hear, in the intensity of that 
moment, his bull-throated roar, but her tongue clove 
to the roof of her mouth and she couldn’t speak. 

“ A-huh!” assented Sherwood, fighting hard to get 
a grip on himself, but still forgetful of his spade. 
“ We thought it only another ruse — this discovery 
of ambergris. It sounded too timely to be true. 
When that bar grated up, we were sure they had 
made the find only to throw us off our guard. 

“ Oh, yes!” he rushed on, jerking the weapon up 
and down for emphasis. “ That’s his voice up there 
— none like it exactly. But still Carthew or any of 
the mates could make a stab at imitating it. We 
thought of that. We fully expected to find Yardley 
facing us here, with a cold little gun in his hand! 
But instead — to find this — you!” He stopped in 
sheer inability to express himself and grounded the 
spade clatteringly upon the deck as though suddenly 
overcome by bodily weakness. 

“ Oh, I couldn’t bear to hear of you starving and 
then being made to work!” she quavered, his evident 
bewilderment aiding her to recover, forcing her to 
explain. “Take these dishes; eat a little, please 
do! And then you’ll return to work, won’t you?” 
appealingly. “Oh, you must!” she went on with 
tremulous concern. “You can’t be so unreasonably 
bad! You must know the captain is master aboard, 

that you can’t outface him-” 

220 



SEA PLUNDER 


“Outface him!” gasped Sherwood. “Unreason¬ 
ably bad!” 

He had been stooping to aid her retrieve that plate 
upon the deck; but he paused to look up with sharply 
lifted eyes. 

“ So,” he exclaimed witheringly, “ this plate was 
thrust here in fear of the mad dogs within! ” And he 
swept the plate on the deck toward her with the 
blade of his spade! 

“ Oh, don’t do that. Please, please, take them!” 
she begged, and she extended the one in her trembling 
hand. “ I can’t explain now. I must hurry back. 
They’ll miss me, and discover all, and take every 
last bit of this food away from you!” 

But Sherwood gently held her from stooping to 
recover that second plate. He paid no attention to 
the one proffered in her shaking hand. 

“ Does this mean, Miss O’Brine,” he said slowly, 
“ that you believe what Harbottle has been telling 
you?” 

She wanted to put down the dish, to leave them 
both on the deck and race back to the cabin; but 
Sherwood’s stricken, accusing eyes held her. 

“Oh, don’t ask me now!” she pleaded in sharp 
distress. “ I can’t answer — Oh, please believe me, 
I can’t! I don’t know what I think!” 

“But you must!” he insisted metallically. “I 
will not eat, I will not accept one pinch of this food 
if you believe we’re wrong-heads! You must listen 
to me. You must learn the truth. You must know 
why we’ve been shackled, manhandled, put on bread 
and water and thrown down here in this blubber- 
221 


SEA PLUNDER 


hole! It’s because we tried to help you! Yes, you, 
Miss O’Brine! When we raised the Johnston Islands 
this morning, we tried to rush aft, Sam and I, to 
rouse you. Instead we were jumped on by the 
skipper and half the crew and clapped in irons-” 

“ And that’s the troof,” said Sam, “ so help me 
God!” 

The girl stood looking at them. Certainly Sher¬ 
wood spoke convincingly, and this strapping, hand¬ 
some Kanaka appeared without guile, simple and 
honest as a boy. She felt all those bulwarks, which 
had been so carefully built up in her brain by the 
insinuating falsehoods of the steward, being inun¬ 
dated and swept away. 

“I believe you!” she spoke softly. “ Perhaps,” 
thoughtfully, dropping her eyes, “ I have always 
believed in you two, though I was not fully conscious 
of it. I have brought you food when every hand was 
turned against you, after strenuous effort had been 
made to turn my own hand against you. Oh, you 
can’t imagine how hard they fought to prejudice 
and embitter me! But still they could not keep me 
from wishing you well, from doing what little I 
could! ” 

“ And we thank you, Miss O’Brine, I can’t tell 
you how much!” said Sherwood, deeply moved. 

“ But I can’t remain here longer!” she entreated 
with fearful earnestness. “ They’ll be back in the 
cabin with those lumps of ambergris; they’ll be 
ordering you to return to work. They’ll discover 
everything then and all my efforts will be put to 
naught, my good offices thwarted, and I can no 
222 



SEA PLUNDER 


longer aid you. And I want to help, to show my 
belief, my gratitude! But only this way, with them 
unaware, can I remain your friend, despite all they 
say or do!” 

Sherwood nodded. 

“ You must remain our friend, Miss O’Brine,” he 
said gravely, “ because we want to be your friends. 
We want you to feel free to call upon us should the 
occasion demand. Miss O’Brine,” he continued in 
the same solemn tone, “ Captain Yardley is holding 
you aboard this ship. He could have landed you 
at the company station on Johnston Atoll, even 
though he desired to retain those three sailors to 
fill out his crew and help in the work. But instead, 
he’s held all four of you! Why — what he intends 
— I can’t say, I’m not sure! But I fear, and there¬ 
fore I want you to know that you have at least 
two friends aboard, the kind of friends to turn to 
in the moment of need! You’ll remember?” 

“ Yes, yes!” she nodded, more agitated than she 
realized by his words. She turned away, intolerably 
eager now to get by herself to think things over. 

“Don’t go!” exclaimed Sherwood sharply. “ There 
is still some doubt in your mind, something said 
about me personally, some infamous lie of that fel¬ 
low-” 

“ But I can’t wait! They’ll be searching for me. 
I must go!” And she thrust the plate of food into 
his restraining hand, thus eluding him, and started 
aft. 

But the pleading note in his voice stopped her, 
swung her about. 


223 



SEA PLUNDER 


“ Only give me a chance to clear my honor,” he 
was saying. “ Meet me here in this passage tonight, 
after my watch is off duty at ten! I’ll have time 
to tell you then about myself, Yardley, his steward, 
everything! ” 

“ But I can’t,” she objected. “ I can’t go through 
that steerage when the men are there! It’s the only 
way into this passage. And,” she added weakly, 
“I’ll have to escape, besides, from that steward!” 

“ But tomorrow morning,” he suggested beseech¬ 
ingly. “ Give the slip to Harbottle, get rid of him 
somehow, and meet me here at ten o’clock, say, 
when my watch goes off duty and the starbowlines 
come on. While they’re exchanging places and 
there’s no one below, you should be able to steal 
through the steerage, unseen!” 

“ I’ll try,” she promised faintly. And leaving him 
there, silhouetted in the lighted doorway, the plate 
of hash in his hand, she turned and fled into the 
darkness of the passage aft. 


224 


CHAPTER XXXV 


Luckily, there was no one in the steerage as 
Clare made through. The plates of hash were still 
cooling upon the whitened flaps of the table where the 
men had left them, and, if anything, the fragrance 
of ambergris seemed more pervading, richer, sensibly 
nearer. 

When she opened the door into the alleyway, it 
was as if she had stepped in upon a protracted 
poker party. Like some invisible smoke, the sweet, 
spicy odor thickened the air and, clustered about 
the cabin table as though dealing chips and cards, 
fairly crowding the tiny saloon, she could make out 
the entire complement of the afterguard, including 
the captain, steward, all the mates, the four har- 
pooners, Chips, Bungs, Kroderen, and even Doc 
Limey, the cook, in his greasy apron of sacking. 

She saw Mr. Carthew straighten up as though he 
had been hefting something — or had just finished 
shoving his chips into the pot! As he faced the 
skipper as if to “ call,” she seized the opportunity 
to squeeze in between his half-turned back and that 
pendent bag of the cook. Whether Doc Limey was 
looking at her or the table, she could not be sure 
on account of his defective vision; but some sensa¬ 
tion of her presence, perhaps the cautious withdrawal 
of her skirt, caused him to gather in his greasy badge 
of office and give her room. 

“ All of sixty or sixty-five pounds in that smaller 
225 


SEA PLUNDER 


hunk, sir,” she heard the blackened-eyed Carthew 
say — and she looked down at the table. 

Some one, probably Harbottle in his capacity 
of steward, had gathered up the magazines she had 
left on the flag-locker and spread them out upon 
the polished surface of the koa table. Bulking upon 
these, she now saw two solid lumps of fat of dif¬ 
ferent size and shape. They were both of a general 
ash-gray color, threaded wavily like marble with 
yellow and reddish striae and spotted blackly, here 
and there, by the horny, indigestible beaks of the 
giant cuttlefish upon which the sperm-cow had fed. 
They were ambergris, she knew, because her nostrils 
were titillated by the nearness of all that fragrance 
and her temples throbbed as with a species of head¬ 
ache. 

“ Sixty-five pounds in that one, you say, Carthew, 
and close to a hundert in this larger chunk,” came 
huskily in the voice of Yardley. He was bending 
over the table, jotting down the figures, with a stubby 
pencil, on the none-too-white margin of one of the 
magazines. “ That’s a hundert sixty-five pounds all 
told. And times sixteen ounces to the pound.” His 
brow knotted with the strain of multiplying. 
“ That’s two thousand six hundert and forty 
ounces,” he announced — and appeared to wait for 
some undesired, but inevitable question. 

“ And with ambergrease high since the war,” said 
Carthew, chewing on the ends of his moustache, 
“ fetchin’ all of fifty dollars per ounce at this very 
momint in Frisco! —naow, what would that make, 
Capt’n?” 


226 


SEA PLUNDER 


But, for some strange reason, Yardley seemed to 
be hedging. He sucked on the end of the short 
pencil and studied the damaged face of the first mate. 

“ I’d ruther put it at less’n that, Carthew,” he said 
at last. “ The Bahamas, where most of the amber¬ 
grease is found, ain’t bin much mixed up in this war. 
Say forty dollars an ounce, and play safe. Oh, sure, 
you’re all in on this accordin’ to your lay, as a 
privute find of the afterguard,” he added craftily. 
“ But there don’t seem no sense nor use in raisin’ 
them figgers too high!” 

“ Wal, all right,” conceded Carthew, though not 
without reluctance. “ Let’s figger it low then. But 
what does that give us, sir — forty dollars for every 
one of them two thousand odd ounces?” 

Yardley was a long time in arriving at an answer. 
He went over the simple problem a second time. It 
was almost as if he wished to deny the black-and- 
white evidence of his figuring. 

“ A little over a hundert thousand dollars!” he was 
finally forced to admit. But he spoke less through 
honesty, for he had deducted a full five thousand 
dollars, than through fear that they might be men¬ 
tally calculating themselves. 

“What!” ejaculated Carthew. He blew out the 
ends of his moustache and rubbed his bad eye. 
“ Good Lord, sir!” 

The others looked at one another and opened their 
mouths to explode characteristically. Some swore, 
forgetful or else entirely unaware of the presence of 
the girl. 

“ One hundred thousand dollars!” repeated Mose- 
227 


SEA PLUNDER 


by, the second mate, rolling the totality of the sum 
like a sweet morsel about on his tongue. 

“ Wot a bloomin’ fine jack pot!” fluted the cook, 
his eyes going everywhere at once and his apron 
flopping down, unheeded, against the girl’s skirt. 

“ But it may be less than that, gentlemen,” inter¬ 
posed the suave voice of Harbottle. 

All turned to look at him. With the exception 
of Kroderen, he was the only one who hitherto had 
found nothing to say; but, unlike the simple, honest 
Norwegian, he had been using his eyes and brains. 
He had sensed the skipper’s dilemma and, though 
unable to perceive as yet what Yardley had in mind, 
still he thought he saw a way to gain stronger into 
his good graces. 

“ Say, Steward,” blurted Carthew angrily, “ what’s 
your infarnal interest in these gallstones anyhow? 
You don’t git any lay,” with grim recollection of 
the proverbial payment of a whaling cruise. “ You 
only git one round iron dollar like the rest of the 
hands!” And his single good eye gleamed at so 
cleverly squelching the interloper. 

But Harbottle met his assertion with a nod and 
answering smile. 

“ I know that,” he agreed. “ And, like Kroderen 
here,” indicating the blue-eyed sailor and thus cun¬ 
ningly allying their interests, “ I have no concern 
whatsoever in this ambergris. But still I couldn’t 
help noticing that Captain Yardley was judging by 
avoirdupois weight, sixteen ounces to the pound, 
when the perfumers ashore may measure the stuff, 
like silver and gold, according to troy weight!” 

228 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ But what would that be?” asked the skipper. 
He appeared dubious, studying the steward with tiny 
greedy eyes and apparently not any too sure but that 
there might be a catch somewhere to show him up. 
“ More or less, Harbottle?” 

“ Less, of course, sir. It’s twelve ounces to the 
pound by the troy system, so that makes for larger 
ounces and smaller return to you!” 

“ To be sure! That’s the truth! There may be 
somethin’ in that, arter all!” exclaimed Yardley, 
and he thanked the steward with his twinkling eyes. 
“ Come to think on it, men,” he turned to the others, 
“ these chunks of hardened bile are w’uth their 
weight in gold, so why shouldn’t they be measured 
out like gold and joo’ls! Oh, leave it to them skin¬ 
flints ashore to do us dirt! But here, Steward, you 
Agger it out; what would that be, naow?” And he 
made way for Harbottle to shove in beside him and 
eagerly handed him the stubby pencil. 

“ Twelve ounces times one hundred sixty-five 
pounds,” said Harbottle, calculating rapidly, “ would 
be nineteen hundred and eighty ounces. Times 
forty dollars,” and he busied for another moment. 
Then, raising up, he announced, “ That’s not quite 
eighty thousand dollars. It’s just seventy-nine 
thousand two hundred dollars, to be precise! ” 

Yardley was secretly elated. Already he could 
see where that difference of twenty-five thousand 
dollars would yet find its way into his own pocket! 

“ Wal, that’s enuff to split betoon us when we 
come to pay off,” he said, as though resigned to the 
loss. “ Now clear out everybody,” he added, before 
229 


SEA PLUNDER 


any one should interpose, “ and leave these chunks 
with me. I’ll stow them in a safe place where 
nobody will touch them, and still we kin all feel sure 
of sharin’ in the end. Git back to your quarters, 
you stabbowlines, and you, Mr. Carthew, git your 
orficers amidships and proceed with the b’ilin’! ” 

Kroderen, having nothing at stake, beat a hasty 
retreat in obedience to the skipper’s command; but 
the others seemed most reluctant to leave, filing out 
the alleyway with many an anxious glance backward. 
Carthew, the chief mate, got no farther than the 
cabin doorway. There he paused and suddenly 
veered around on his heel as if struck all at once 
by a logical excuse to tarry. 

“But how about them mutineers, sir!” he re¬ 
minded the skipper. “ You’ve clean forgot them in 
the excitement, I reckon!” and, at the blank look 
on Yardley’s face, he smiled slightly under cover 
of the drooping ends of his moustache. 

“That’s so!” the skipper concurred. He stood 
glaring in perplexity at the blackened-eyed mate, 
while slowly he rubbed the scar on his cheek. Be¬ 
hind Carthew, he could see that Portalegre had 
taken advantage of the question to halt dead and 
listen. 

“ I’ve got it!” he burst out, of a sudden. “ This 
ambergrease has given us a lesson,” he went on to 
explain. “ The fact that it was ripped outa that 
cow’s belly shows jest how deep them pesky sharks 
must be cuttin’ in. Now we can’t have that 
cow torn to tatters and lose all that ile. Tell me, 
Mr. Carthew,” he asked, “ how does the blubber- 
230 


SEA PLUNDER 


room stand? Putty well empty by now of them 
blankets off’n that bull of yourn?” 

The mate nodded, though he seemed puzzled. 

“ Fairly low, sir,” he said. 

“Wal, I’ll tell you what you do then, Carthew! 
Your watch kin handle that cow alone, can’t they? 
She’s on’y one-third the size of them bulls.” 

“Aye, sir; I guess they kin.” But he did not 
look at the skipper; he continued to gaze, as though 
fascinated, at those two lumps of fat on the table. 

“ Wal, trice her up, and start cuttin’-in and 
flenchin’ immedjit!” ordered Yardley, his face going 
ruddy and appearing to glow. “ That’ll git around 
them mutineers!” he pointed out, excitedly. 
“ They’ll have to come up out of that blubber-hole 
and then, Port,” with a sly grin at the third mate, 
lurking behind Carthew, “ that’ll put them right 
under your fin! But don’t bother me about ’em, 
either of you, unless you plumb have to!” he dis¬ 
missed them warningly. 

“ Miss O’Brine,” he smirked, turning to the girl 
as the two mates glumly took themselves off, “ don’t 
you find it kinder headachy in here with all this 
sweet-sickish smell?” 

She colored with embarrassment, perceiving what 
he was so boorishly trying to say. 

“ If you’ll excuse me, Captain,” she stammered, 
“ I think I’ll go up on deck for a breath of fresh 
air!” And she fled from the cabin in pursuit of 
the mates. 

The skipper swung about, then, on the last one 
to remain, Weymore Harbottle. He could see, quite 
231 


SEA PLUNDER 


plainly, that the hapa haole was hanging back in the 
fatuous assumption that he was to be declared in on 
the hiding-place of the ambergris. But Ham Yardley 
had different plans. 

“ You’d better accomp’ny her, Fauntleroy,” he 
suggested, his piggy eyes twinkling. “ Naow not 
another word!” he admonished, as Harbottle made 
to object. “ I know you helped me out in that 
matter of the troy weight, and I thank you; but, 
arter all, Steward, that’s what you’re here for, to 
lend a hand when I’m stuck! 

“ Naow,” he went on, backing the hapa haole step 
by step before him, “ you’d better lend Doc Limey 
a hand in sarvin’ them stabbowlines. That’ll keep 
you outa mischief and help the delayed cookie. But 
don’t come pussyfootin’ down here, peekin’ around!” 
judging his man. “ Use the booby-hatch into the 
steerage. And don’t worry about me,” pausing at 
the cabin doorway to call after him, “ I’ll pass you 
the word when I’m good and ready you should set 
the table for supper!” 


232 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


How she escaped the constant companionship 
of Harbottle to keep tryst with Sherwood, when the 
watches were changing at ten o’clock the next morn¬ 
ing, seemed to Clare O’Brine almost too miraculously 
accomplished to be true. And, in fact, that was so! 
For she eluded the steward a good deal through his 
own connivance, because he sensed something was 
in the wind and wished to spy upon her unbeknown. 

It had all begun the evening prior when, in ful¬ 
fillment of the skipper’s orders, the disgruntled Har¬ 
bottle had gone into the steerage to help Doc 
Limey collect, warm over and re-serve the hash. 
The cook had naturally discovered there were two 
helpings missing and had fretted about the loss to 
him. 

But Harbottle was wholly concerned, at the time, 
with the sudden ingratitude shown by Yardley, and 
he would have thought nothing more of the cook’s 
worries had it not been for an unaccountable bit 
of news which seemed to confirm suspicion. This 
was that, without any further show of trouble, the 
mutineers had turned to with the rest of the port 
watch on flenching the cow! 

Knowing Sherwood and Sam as he felt he did, 
Harbottle could not agree with the afterguard in 
believing they had returned to work without gaining 
their point, without having had something to eat. 
He recalled the missing helpings and leaped instantly 
233 


SEA PLUNDER 


to the conclusion that it was they who had robbed 
the mess! 

But how could they? At his own instigation the 
blubber-room door had been barred from the pas¬ 
sage, and they could not possibly have gotten out 
that way to invade the steerage. Indeed, for all the 
change that had been made, to his certain knowledge 
the door was still so barred! But he would see for 
a surety. 

He was feeling with outstretched hands through 
the pitchy blackness of the passage when his feet 
stumbled clatteringly upon the two plates, empty of 
hash and laid upon the deck. Just beyond, the door 
of the blubber-room was unbarred. It creaked a 
little ajar, as he stumbled and flung his hand against 
it to steady himself, and he could see the glare of 
the cressets flaring smokily across the open hatch 
above. 

He was positive then. Sam and Sherwood had 
found an ally. But who? Where? Certainly not 
in the fo’c’s’le. No, whoever it was, it was some one 
who knew intimately the movements aft. Otherwise, 
how could the unknown ally get into the passage, 
unbar the door and rob the steerage mess, all unseen? 

But who was it? Who could have been so moved 
by their plight as to pilfer the steerage mess to give 
them food? That did not sound like a man; it was 
more the act of a woman. The index of psychology, 
like the willow-wand of a water diviner, suddenly 
pointed to one person — Clare O’Brine. She was 
their good angel! 

Harbottle was restless that night, unable to sleep. 

234 


SEA PLUNDER 


Many things bothered him — the friendship of the 
girl for the mutineers, the inordinate cupidity of the 
skipper, his gloating ingratitude, where the amber¬ 
gris might be hidden. But mainly he was worried 
by his lack of perception, his false premises and mis¬ 
taken conclusions, his bungled plans! He had been 
altogether wrong! 

He had thought Sam and Sherwood helpless and 
friendless, down and out; he had reckoned Yardley 
sole master aboard; and he had cast the mutineers 
adrift, accordingly, and worked against them in 
effort to ingratiate himself with the master. How 
little he had succeeded with Yardley was evidenced 
by his refusal to admit him into the secret of the 
hiding place of the loot! But how incorrectly he had 
judged Sherwood and Sam was made even more 
glaringly manifest in the way they had overturned 
the ship’s routine! 

One thing was certain. Yardley had a wholesome 
respect for the two mutineers. Rather than force 
them to work on in the blubber-room, he had com¬ 
promised with his plans, changed the entire working 
program and put half his crew to flenching the cow. 
Nothing hitherto had so upset the schedule! As for 
the fear he had expressed, of losing so much blubber 
to the sharks, that was only a plausible excuse. 
Sam and Sherwood were still potent factors aboard 
the old Ballenas . They might yet organize a suc¬ 
cessful break for liberty! 

There was the kernel of Harbottle’s nightmare. 
He wanted to retain his footing in the cabin and 
still curry favor with the mutineers; he wanted, 
235 


SEA PLUNDER 


like a true hypocrite, to be able to jump whichever 
way seemed propitious. But, most of all, he wanted 
to get away from the ship! He decided, toward 
daybreak, to engineer a new and, if anything, more 
subtle campaign. 

He would work through the girl. She was in 
cahoots with the mutineers. He would appear to 
relax his vigilance. This would lead her to act more 
in the open and then he could readily catch her 
in some good Samaritan stunt. It was all very 
simple. Once he had the upper hand of the trio, 
he would pledge himself to keep their conspiracy a 
secret from the skipper. Yardley being none the 
wiser, he would thereby align himself with them as 
a fellow-plotter and thus, without loss of standing 
in the cabin, include himself in any and all of their 
possible schemes for deserting! 

But it was Captain Ham himself who, that fore¬ 
noon, proved the god in the machine, the unconscious 
force motivating the drama. They were all on the 
quarter-deck in the morning sunshine: Clare seated 
upon the signal-locker, apparently reading but really 
awaiting the changing of the watch; Harbottle mak¬ 
ing a great show, with a patch of sharkskin, of sand¬ 
papering the topmost brass step of the companion; 
and Yardley, slouched against the taffrail, sucking 
at his dead pipe. 

Happening to look casually at nothing in particu¬ 
lar, but, as luck would have it, up at the reefed top¬ 
sails and crow’s nests above, Captain Yardley 
noticed, hanging from the fore topgallant lift, a 
solitary blue shirt. Instantly his face went bricky 
236 


SEA PLUNDER 


red with congested blood. He hurled his pipe into 
smithereens upon the deck and, followed by the 
startled eyes of the girl and the steward, bounded 
forward into the waist. 

“Call up the stabbowlines, Mr. Carthew!” he 
roared. “And hold both watches on deck! Stand 
by, everybody!” 

The men of the port guard looked at him wor¬ 
riedly, while the mates passed the word with that 
inevitable accompaniment of drumming handspikes. 
The starbowlines tumbled up as though at a fire 
alarm. Even Harbottle forgot his scouring pretense 
and left the girl to draw close to the battle sector. 

It was Clare O’Brine’s chance — the desired 
opportunity to elude the steward, slip unnoticed 
down the companion, through the steerage, while 
there was no one there, and so into the passageway. 
But the suddenness of it all, a certain guilty qualm 
and, especially, dread of what was going to happen 
next, held her immovably enchained. 


237 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


“ Naow,” thundered Yardley at the assembled 
men, “ what son of a sea-pig stopped that shirt up 
there on thet to’gallant lift?” And he pointed up at 
the fore rigging. 

The men craned their necks. The shirt was flut¬ 
tering in the light air, its blue folds rippling with 
a velvety sheen lent by the sunlight. No one 
answered. 

Yardley’s gimlet eyes danced from one to another; 
they halted, with logical suspicion, on the giant Mar¬ 
shall Islander. But even had he no cause to suspect 
Sam, he would naturally have singled him out, for 
the Kanaka stood as conspicuous as a target, head 
and shoulders above the run of the men. 

“ Did you do that, Samson?” Yardley asked, 
apparently more hurt than accusative. “ Pipe up 
now, and tell the truth!” 

But Sam shook his head. 

“It don’t look like my only shirt!” he grinned, 
and glanced down at his oil-splattered khaki blouse. 

“ Wal, I guess there’s no use askin’ whether you 
did it, eh, Curly?” turning to Sherwood. 

Neil agreed with the skipper. 

“ More than that, sir,” he smiled, “ I don’t even 
know what it signifies, dangling up there.” 

“ No?” in evident surprise. “ Wal, I’ll tell you. 
It’s an old-time sailor signal, meanin’ trouble aboard. 
And I guess we’ve had trouble enuff,” significantly, 
238 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ without that shirt tittle-tattling to the hull world! 
Shin up them ratlines, Curly, and cut it down.” And 
he appeared almost friendly, so relieved was he to 
find that his old enemies, the two mutineers, were no 
longer concerned in pestering him. 

The crew below waited. High on the topgallant 
yard, Neil, as he withdrew his sheath knife, looked 
down and aft toward the quarter-deck. He saw the 
girl, a tiny figure in white, standing there staring up 
at him. He nodded recognition, then, with long, 
downward strokes, slashed away at the twine binding 
the shirt to the lift. It was as near as he could 
chance to motioning her to go below, with all those 
eyes glued upon him from the waist. 

But for all his care, the pantomime did not escape 
the observant Harbottle. He noted that the girl 
appeared hesitant, shaking her head as though in 
refusal. He was not aware of this, but the truth 
was she thought Sherwood might find himself in 
wrong over the matter of the shirt and so be held 
on deck away from the tryst. 

But Sherwood, as he bundled the shirt, a blue 
navy work-blouse, into one hand, chanced with the 
other a bold, downward swoop. It was an insistent 
gesture. Swinging his eyes back to the afterdeck, 
Harbottle saw the girl, as in answer, move toward 
the companionway. 

He himself was in no haste to follow her. He 
would give her a chance, he decided, and stick along 
after Sherwood. He saw Neil swing out from the 
topgallant tye to a backstay and come sliding down 
to the deck. 


239 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Here’s the shirt, sir,” said Sherwood, proffering 
it to the skipper. 

“ Why, that’s Carlin’s navy work-blouse!” blurted 
out Kroderen. As it passed to the skipper’s hand, 
he had got a good view of it and noted the round 
rolled collar and open front. Honest to a fault, 
he had spoken without thought of consequences, but 
the next moment, realizing what he had done, he 
could have bitten off his tongue. 

“ Carlin’s!” repeated Yardley, and he swung round 
upon the man, who was looking daggers, just then, 
at his former mate. “ Now what do you say to that, 
Carlin? Is this your shirt?” 

The sailor nodded surlily. 

“ But I never slung it up there, sir, for all that 
Scowegian says!” he sulked. “ It was that Welsh¬ 
man there,” pointing, “ that blubber-room chief, 
Evans, what did that!” 

Evans shoved through the crowd. 

“ But it was your idee!” he whined. “ Me, I ain’t 
sea-goin’ enough to know about signals of distress, 
sir,” appealing to the skipper. “ He tole me about 
it, sir, offered to lend me his shirt and all, if only 
I’d tie it up there whilst none of the orficers was 
lookin’! ” 

The affair was rapidly degenerating into a fore¬ 
mast brawl. Harbottle, watching Sherwood, could 
see him edging toward the outskirts of the crowd, 
anxious to get away. 

“ Waal,” drawled Yardley, grinning, “ I was gonna 
give you a job on deck, Evans, but seein’ as how you 
like to lord it over the blubber-room, thar you’ll 
240 


SEA PLUNDER 


stay! Naow that we’ve finished flenchin’ that cow,” 
he went on in the same tone, “ you and Carlin kin 
gam it over below, or else fight it out together, I’m 
not carin’ which! But you,” turning to the seaman 
who had come aboard with Carlin and Kroderen 
— “ whatever-your-name-is, you’ll take Evans’ place 
on deck. Say, what handle do you go by, anyhow?” 

“ Hale, sir, though they do call me Helavi, the 
Kanakas do, among the islands, sir.” 

“ Wal, Mr. Moseby,” grinning knowingly at the 
second mate and punning on the man’s name, “ you’ll 
see that this helluva bloke from Sydney here gits 
a job on deck with your watch! Aye, the one we 
had picked out for Evans,” rubbing it in. “ Naow,” 
he exploded, “ lay below, the port watch, and turn 
to, you stabbowlines! ” 

His command was the starting pistol of a race, 
apparently, to Sherwood. One moment Neil stood 
waiting, half turned from the skipper, facing forward 
and poised like a sprinter on the balls of his toes. 
The next, he was leaping for the fo’c’s’le scuttle, 
closely pressed by Sam, but more leisurely followed 
by the others who had not their cogent reason for 
winding themselves. 

Harbottle watched the two disappear. He could 
almost hear their feet drumming down the ladder; 
then he looked toward the afterdeck. But the girl 
was indeed gone! His lean, swart face broke into 
a smile. It was all as plain as day. Sherwood had 
an engagement to meet that girl and the most logi¬ 
cal and cut-off place for the meeting was below in 
the passageway! 


241 


SEA PLUNDER 


Deliberately Weymore Harbottle wended his way 
aft. But his scouring pretense was forgotten, though 
the patch of sharkskin was still in his hand. So 
certain indeed was he of his deductions that, to save 
steps now, he entered the booby-hatch under the gal¬ 
lows which led directly down to the steerage! 

“ You’ll be on guard here,” said Sherwood to Sam 
when, breathing hard, they found themselves alone 
in the fo’c’s’le. He swung open the door into the 
passage. “ Sit on your bunk there, big boy, as 
though nothing’s on your mind. You can chow when 
Doc Limey serves the grub; but be dead sure that no 
one follows me in here!” And forsaking his own 
chances of eating, he shut the door behind him and 
disappeared from the forepeak before any of the 
others had yet put foot through the scuttle. 

He found Clare O’Brine waiting nervously near 
the shaft of sunlight wedging through the slightly 
ajar door of the blubber-room. He greeted her 
cordially. 

“ Let’s make forward into the carpenter shop,” he 
said, striving to catch his breath. “ Chips is going 
to labor overtime, I understand, to make up for the 
shifts he caused Bungs to work while he was guard¬ 
ing Sam and me. Oh, everything’s turning out fine, 
Miss O’Brine, favoring us to a desire! We’ll have 
a couple of hours for undisturbed gossip in the 
cubby and, besides, big, faithful Sam is standing 
guard in the fo’c’s’le to see that no one intrudes that 
way!” 

He led her into the tiny shop which seemed fairly 
flooded with morning sunshine through that single 
242 


SEA PLUNDER 


port. The carpenter’s easy chair, where Chips was 
wont to smoke and drowse, naturally suggested itself 
for her. He contented himself with placing a board 
across a wooden horse and sitting down upon that. 

“ May I smoke?” he asked, and, as she nodded 
ready assent, he rolled brown paper and tobacco, 
while he regained his wind. Then lighting the ciga¬ 
rette and inhaling with evident enjoyment, he began 
his expose with details of that assignment which had 
first brought him to Honolulu. 

Harbottle, meantime, peering cautiously out from 
the steerage, saw no one in the passageway. He 
negotiated, in one flying leap, that telltale shaft of 
sunlight slanting from the blubber-room door. He 
paused sharply upon thinking he heard the familiar 
sound of his name, but when he hearkened, he could 
catch only a dull, low monotone of voices ahead. 

At last, just abaft the partly closed door of the 
carpenter shop, he halted. About him, where he 
then stood, was cloaking darkness. Immediately 
forward, the sunbeams escaped through that slight 
opening of the door and shielded him, behind ribbons 
of dancing golden motes, from any eyes which might 
happen to peer aft from the fo’c’s’le. 

It was a vantage place. Through that partly 
ajar door also escaped the voice of Sherwood and 
he could hear plainly now, not alone distinguishing 
his own name, but also mention of his daughter, 
Miss Armida, and Pilikea Pete. He listened eagerly, 
intently, more intrigued than ever he had expected to 
be! 


243 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


While Sherwood was spinning his yarn for the 
girl and, unknowingly, for the ears of Harbottle 
also, a curious parallel was happening in Honolulu 
about the same time. It was a day earlier by the 
calendar there because, in sailing westward, the 
Ballenas had crossed the zigzagging international 
date line and, in sea phraseology, gained a day. 

To go back. Following the first twenty-four hours 
of her father’s mysterious disappearance, Miss 
Armida Harbottle had generously advertised that 
she would pay ten thousand dollars “ for any knowl¬ 
edge of his present whereabouts.” But almost a week 
went by with no revealing word and, under the rising 
pressure of anxiety and sad perplexity, she had in¬ 
creased the reward to twenty-five thousand dollars 
and added the significant words: “ or any infor¬ 
mation leading to the recovery of his body!” 

At this point, the Mid-Pacific Subscriber took a 
decided hand in the matter. Of course, it had 
previously published, in scare heads and columns, 
various accounts of the strange vanishing of one of 
Hawaii’s richest financiers and well-known and loved 
lawmakers. But now it began to link the disappear¬ 
ance, for the sake of sensation, with that of a member 
of its own staff. 

To tell the truth, for the first few days the rep- 
ortorial staff had been sanguine in the opinion that 
Neil Sherwood, their star, had simply “ gone off on a 
244 


SEA PLUNDER 


bat,” as they expressed it. But, discovering the 
startling coincidence between the date of the Har- 
bottle vanishing and that on which Sherwood had 
supposedly started his spree, they determined to link 
the two together, for the story’s sake, and make a 
feature of it. 

And they did not stop, this time, with mere three- 
inch scare heads. They did what was for a news¬ 
paper an unprecedented thing. They offered “ a 
liberal reward of five hundred dollars for any clue 
leading to the discovery of Neil Sherwood’s where¬ 
abouts or the recovery of his body!” This added 
zest to the hunt and wider publicity and, for several 
hours after she had read every word on the pages of 
mystery, the heiress to the Harbottle millions sat 
on the rustic lanai of the family bungalow in Manoa 
Valley, looking up through the interstices in the 
vine-curtains at flowering Palolo Hill, and momen¬ 
tarily expecting some one to ring on the phone with 
definite knowledge of her father’s whereabouts or 
fate. 

But each tinkle of the bell only served to apprise 
her of the polite sympathy and inordinate curiosity 
of her social friends, and the frustration and utter 
bewilderment of her numerous private detectives. 
By noon of this sixth day her nerves were so 
stretched on tenterhooks of feverish dread that she 
found she must do something. So she rang up the 
business office of the Subscriber once more and told 
them to change the wording of her advertisement 
from twenty-five thousand dollars reward to fifty 
thousand! 


245 


SEA PLUNDER 


The morning of the seventh day, when the changed 
advertisement appeared, she was still in the midst of 
reading the latest features about the mystery and 
that omnipresent statement, “ the police are dili¬ 
gently pursuing each clue with high hope of ulti¬ 
mate success,” when the door bell jangled and her 
Japanese maid ushered in upon the lanai none other 
than Pilikea Pete! 

Of course she knew the huge black fellow, but 
only as a distant and unaccountable relative of her 
proud New England family. Pete acknowledged 
the frigid greeting with a smile and show of his 
strong white teeth. Then, accepting the wicker easy- 
chair, he hesitated not a moment, but proceeded to 
get down to business. 

“ May I see you alone, Miss Armida?” 

Her swarthy face went as white as the thickly 
powdered countenance of the Japanese maid, who 
was hovering unobtrusively about. She looked over 
at the huge fellow as he slouched there, in modish 
pongees, looking so much like a negro, and indubi¬ 
table fear lent a startled brightness to her eyes. 
Her eyes were the same soft liquid brown as her 
father’s and were, by far, her most expressive and 
beautiful feature. 

“ Is that quite necessary?” she countered. “ But 
excuse me, please!” she hastened to soften the ques¬ 
tion, with a weary smile of her generous mouth. 
“ I’m so utterly distraught over my poor father’s 
strange vanishing, I hardly know what I’m saying. 
And as yet, you know,” she pointed out, “ I have no 
inkling of the nature of your business.” 

246 


SEA PLUNDER 


He leaned toward her and whispered in his sur¬ 
prising, cultured voice: 

“ It’s in regard to that very thing — your father’s 
disappearance!” 

She sat bolt upright, her hand going to her throat 
and her eyes fluttering wide as if all her worst fears 
were here realized. She tried to speak, but for a 
time only succeeded in making queer catching noises 
in her palpitating throat. 

“ My father!” she exclaimed at last. Then in a 
rush, like a freshet released, she asked: “ Do you 
know where he is? Have you seen him? Do you 
know what happened to him? Is he — is he — 
alive?” 

Not so much out of pity for this remote niece of 
his, as with the instinct of a born gambler playing 
his trump card, Pete nodded. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ I can assure you of that; he is 

alive. But-” and he glanced askance at the 

Japanese maid who was apparently only interested 
in arranging the long stems of a tropical plant in its 
hanging basket. 

“ You may go, Taku,” she said in answer to his 
look and, as the maid padded softly into the house, 
she sank back in her chair and breathed a sigh of 
intense relief. “Oh, I’m so happy!” she gulped. 
“ To think that my father is alive and will be 
with me soon! He will be with me soon, won’t 
he?” with pathetic appeal. “ Oh, I feel so alone in 
the world with my poor father gone, I don’t know 
where! But you know and you’ll tell me all, won’t 
you — please!” 


247 



SEA PLUNDER 


Pete smiled enigmatically at his bewildered niece. 

“ I noticed in this morning’s Subscriber ” he began 
in his surprising voice, “ that you advertised a reward 
of fifty thousand dollars for any information leading 
to the discovery of-” 

“ Yes, yes; that’s true!” 

“ Well, before I tell you anything definite,” boldly, 
“ I want you to write a check for that amount! 
Certainly, to judge from your advertisement, you 
must be able to draw that much from your own 
personal account because your father’s affairs are 
surely all tied up, pending his reappearance.” 

She eyed him from under her long lashes with 
sudden understanding. Here was no poor and dis¬ 
tant relative come to offer dubious sympathy in her 
time of distress. Pete, she realized, was a sharp 
business man intent only on converting his undoubted 
knowledge into cash. 

“ You need entertain no worry on that score,” she 
nodded. “ Of course, I can write a check for that 
amount and more; otherwise, I would not have dared 
advertise to that effect. I’m glad now my father 
was so liberal a parent,” she added, “ because, pend¬ 
ing his reappearance, as you have surmised, no one 
can touch his money or affairs.” 

“ I thought as much,” declared Pete. “ And I 
am happy that, while I am telling you all I know — 
and I do know a great deal — it will not be any 
cause of trouble to you to send your maid down to the 
bank to have the check certified. By the time then 
that I have finished and we have made due arrange¬ 
ments for the rescue party, the maid will have re- 
248 



SEA PLUNDER 


turned and the check will be in my hands and no 
further questions asked.” 

He looked at her with swift recollection of the 
ticklishness of his position. 

“ The certified check will be only one guarantee of 
your good faith,” he said, with the same boldness. 
“ I have in mind still another.” 

“ I am afraid,” she returned, with a proud little 
toss of her head, “ that your precautions are a bit 
unwarranted in so far as I am only interested in 
finding my poor father and am hardly in the position 
to reckon the cost. I am like a woman who has 
lost a precious jewel. I do not care whether I 
precisely lost the jewel or had it stolen from me — 
I only desire its safe recovery. Therefore you can 
see that I am not interested so much in how you 
came by this knowledge you say you have, nor in 
what manner you want to guard yourself. It looks 
suspicious, highly suspicious. Still, that is nothing 
at all to me. I am perfectly willing,” she ended, 
“ to agree to abide by any conditions within reason 
that are without detriment to my father’s honor or 
my own.” 

It was a long speech, but Pete had suffered her to 
finish because it was most important to his status 
in the case that these things should be well under¬ 
stood. 

“There is the matter of the newspapers,” he 
said. “ I want you to agree not to divulge to the 
papers, nor to any one else for that matter, the 
exact nature of my disclosures. You can tell them, 
if you wish, that you have a clue from unquestion- 
249 


SEA PLUNDER 


able authority which you intend to pursue per¬ 
sonally.” 

“ Agreed! ” she snapped, a trifle impatiently. 
“ And now shall I write the check?” 

“ If you would be so kind!” He bowed from the 
waist, while still remaining seated in the cane chair. 
“ I only ask,” he added, “ that you allow me to 
glimpse the draft, in the presence of your maid, if 
you wish. And then I shall be perfectly willing to 
tell all I know and help you arrange the matter 
of pursuit, if you like, while the maid is being 
motored down to the bank for the certification.” 

“ You will excuse me while I get my book?” she 
asked, rising. “ Pray, keep your seat!” as he 
astonished her by politely rising. 

Pete sat down again and she moved toward him 
a tiny tabouret containing an ash tray, matches, 
Turkish cigarettes and fat cigars. 

“ You may smoke, if you care to,” she smiled, 
then shuddered a bit as he reached out a huge black 
hand for a cigarette. At that moment, as if to give 
her obvious cause for the involuntary action, the 
cry of a parrakeet, out in the grove about the house, 
pierced the perfumed air, and she exclaimed, “ Isn’t 
that a distressing call?” 

Pete nodded and went on calmly to light the 
cigarette. When her back was turned, however, a 
slight smile played with the smoke-wreaths about 
the corners of his mouth. 

She reappeared a little later, holding the pink 
oblong of a check and accompanied by the maid, 
apparently dressed for the street, although she still 
250 


SEA PLUNDER 


wore the same kimono and obi and was without a 
hat. Her own face was flushed as with either excite¬ 
ment or embarrassment. 

u I’m so sorry!” she stammered, showing him the 
check. 

He looked up from the paper to her in surprise. 
Had he not seen, with a quickening of the action of 
his aortic artery, that it was made out to the amount 
of fifty thousand dollars! 

“ But the name place is blank,” she explained. 
“ You see,” she hesitated, “ I know you by the name 
of Pilikea Pete, and I hardly think that would do.” 

He laughed quietly, exhaling smoke. The amount 
of that check soothed whatever vanity might have 
been wounded by this display of ignorance upon 
the part of his own niece. Yet he could not for¬ 
bear from saying: 

“ It’s odd you do not know the name of your 
grandmother’s first husband. But then, as the 
Chinese say, these are strange times and one’s an¬ 
cestors are soon forgotten. My name is Kinuokalani, 
after my mother, Pederneira, from which last has 
been derived that nickname Pete. But I’ll spell 
it for you,” he offered, with a wry smile, as she 
appeared more bewildered than comprehending. 

He realized she had failed utterly to grasp the 
close consanguinity of their relationship, as evi¬ 
denced by his words. He was surprised at this 
himself, but said no more about it just then. She 
was leaning over the tabouret, and he contented 
himself with reeling off: 

“ K-i-n-u-o-k-a-l-a-n-i P-e-d-e-r-n-e-i-r-a.” 

251 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


“Now,” said Pete, once the Japanese maid had 
disappeared on her important errand and the drone 
of the opal-winged dragon flies, darting about the 
lanai , sounded loud above the purr of the motor in 
the perfumed distance, “ now, if you don’t mind, 
Miss Armida, I’ll continue to smoke while I tell you 
all I know.” 

She nodded willing acquiescence. 

“ You see,” he explained in his cultured voice, “ I 
am in that newest of all professions, the bootleg 
business, and that’s one small reason why I don’t 
desire publicity, with its resultant attentions from 
police and papers. I run a blind pig, as it is called, 
down at the end of Richards Street-” 

“ But are all these sordid — all these details neces¬ 
sary to your story, Mr. Pederneira, if you’ll forgive 
the interruption?” 

Pete smiled, his thick, negroid lips curling back 
from his white, strong teeth. 

“ The interruption is forgiven, Miss Armida, 
though I must say the question is quite a natural 
one. One would hardly think that a blind pig should 
have any connection with the Hon. Weymore Har- 
bottle. Yet, truth being forever stranger than fic¬ 
tion, it becomes my rather sad duty to tell you that 
it was to my blind pig your father came on the day 
he disappeared.” 


252 



SEA PLUNDER 


“ Though only on a matter of business, I sup¬ 
pose,” she said; but her voice quavered with uncer¬ 
tainty. 

“ Yes,” nodding, “ if one may call a social nip a 
matter of business.” 

She sat rigid in her chair. 

“ You mean, sir?” 

“ That your father came to my place for a drink! 
He was in the habit of doing this-” 

“ Habit of drinking! My father!” and her face 
paled to a fainter swarth and her hands gripped the 
chair till the knuckles showed white. She remained 
thus for a full minute, staring at him and pondering 
his words. 

“ You forget, Mr. Pedemeira,” she objected at 
last, “ that my father helped to found in the Terri¬ 
tory the Band of Hope, and today, if still alive, is the 
honorary vice-president of the Hawaiian Prohibition 
League. Why,” she exclaimed, recovering her com¬ 
posure a bit, “ in all my life, I never saw the sign 
of liquor on my father!” 

Pete smiled indulgently. It was as much as to 
say that he who knew Weymore Harbottle so inti¬ 
mately could afford to be lenient with his doting 
daughter. 

“ Many a deathbed has disclosed a double life,” 
he philosophized, “ and many a pillar of the church 
has turned out to be nothing more than a Brigham 
Young! But I don’t mean to say your father was a 
heavy drinker,” he mollified. “ After all, what 
drinking I ever saw him do was usually in the way 
of business or politics — politic drinking, as you 
253 



SEA PLUNDER 


might call it. For instance, on this last day that I 
saw him, he came into my place accompanied by a 
newspaperman-” 

“Neil Sherwood! The reporter who also 
vanished ?” 

Pete nodded. 

“ You knew him well?” he asked, his lids dropping 
to veil his close scrutiny of her. 

“ Only slightly,” she replied, without hesitation. 
“ I met him at a dance of the boat club and again 
out at the golf links.” 

Thought Pete to himself: 

“A true daughter to her hypocrite of a father! 
But I won’t let her get away with it! ” 

For her part, Miss Armida began to put faith in 
his story with this definite linking of the two dis¬ 
appearances. 

“ Your father seemed to think otherwise,” re¬ 
marked Pete dryly, puffing at the cigarette and con¬ 
tinuing to study her through his half-closed lids. 
“ As I’ve already explained, your father usually 
transacted highly personal business over the drinks 
in my private office. This day, from some words I 
couldn’t help overhearing him address to Sherwood, 
I naturally got the intimation that he was afraid 
this newspaperman was a fortune hunter, intent on 
finding favor in your eyes.” 

“ Ridiculous!” she snapped. “ Sherwood was not 
that sort in the first place and, besides, we were 
only becoming acquainted, you might say. No,” she 
added with certitude, “ I don’t think Neil Sherwood 
was that type at all!” 


254 



SEA PLUNDER 


But Pete smiled. He thought her protestations a 
bit too fervid. 

“ Wasn’t he interested in you at all?” he persisted. 

“ Well, yes,” she was forced to admit. “ But only 
in an impersonal way. Really, Sherwood was more 
concerned in helping some one in whom I was inter¬ 
ested, and still am!” 

Pete was plainly puzzled. 

“ Your words are vague and perplexing,” he 
pointed out, “ but from what I can gather, you and 
Sherwood shared a secret, isn’t that it?” 

She nodded. 

“ I guess you might call it that. But oh, what a 
silly I am, indeed!” she burst out, suddenly. 
“ There’s the very reason why my poor father 
thought we were interested in each other!” 

Pete’s black countenance seemed to wear a con¬ 
tinual smirk. 

“ You have solved, Miss Armida, what has been 
bothering me ever since. You see,” he went on to 
explain, “ it was your father’s private arrangement 
with me that he should drink with this Sherwood 
and then I should serve the reporter knock-out 
drops-” 

“ Knock-out drops!” she repeated, gaspingly. 

“ Yes; dope his liquor so that he would go to 
sleep, there in my office-cubby, and make it all the 
easier for us to rid the Territory of his presence by 
shipping him out before the mast of some square- 
rigger.” 

“ You mean shanghai him?” 

“ That is the storybook word, Miss Armida,” still 
255 



SEA PLUNDER 


smiling, “ but it covers the case most aptly. It was 
not the first time your father had come to me with 
such a suggestion. You can understand now why 
I do not crave publicity in regard to this informa¬ 
tion I’m divulging and you can comprehend further 
what I meant when I said your father was a politic 
drinker.” 

She could hardly credit her senses. In fact, he 
might just as well not have mouthed his last words, 
so dimly did she hear them. Her thoughts were run¬ 
ning back into the past and putting a strange new 
construction on certain vehement statements her 
father had made in her presence. 

So this was the reason, she thought, why her father 
had often threatened to rid the Territory of Pilikea 
Pete himself! It was not as she had previously 
believed because he was a poor and none-too-credit- 
able a relation. He was a shanghai-man, as she 
expressed it, and as such a tool of her father. He 
knew too much of her father’s darker secrets! As 
he had said, this was not the first time he had 
shipped men out to sea at her father’s instigation! 

She looked up, a peculiar brightness sharpening 
her soft brown eyes. 

“ Not the first time, Mr. Pederneira?” she re¬ 
peated. “ I wonder- But let me ask you, did 

you ever happen to meet a Mr. Bayard Haviland, a 
short, blond Englishman who-” 

“ Looked little more than a boy and was a clerk in 
your father’s bank?” Pete’s habitual smile widened 
into a frank grin. “ I should say so! But only on 
one occasion. That was the night he came into my 
256 




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shebeen, thinking there was a native luau in progress 
there, with plenty of liquor. 

“ He got liquor a-plenty, all right,” nodding; “ too 
much in fact; for he wasn’t able to find his way out 
by the door he came in. He left by way of the trap¬ 
door in the floor of my private office and, instead of 
reporting next morning at the palatial quarters of the 
bank, he woke up in the smelly fo’c’s’le of a lime- 
juicer— beg pardon, I mean a British freighter.” 

The girl sat as though stunned. Again the cry 
of the parrakeet in the grove pierced the warm, 
scented air. She shivered as though cold and, sud¬ 
denly recollecting herself with the convulsive move¬ 
ment, looked over at the big black fellow with a 
weary smile. 

“ Strange! ” she murmured with dry, fluttering lips. 
“ It’s strange, but your story puts me in mind, oddly, 
of Neil Sherwood’s words when he first met me. It 
was at the opening summer dance of the Hui Nalu. 
He repeated my given name after the introduction 
and then added, with a smile, he thought it fitted 
me most appropriately. ‘ How’s that?’ I asked. 
‘ Oh,’ he replied , 4 you know the legend and operas of 
fair Armida, the sorceress! ’ ” 

“ Meaning,” interposed Pilikea Pete, “ the legend 
related by Pierre Delancre, the poet, and used by 
Tasso in his ‘ Jerusalem Delivered ’ and by Gluck 
in an opera.” 

Her eyes opened. His display of knowledge was 
all the more astonishing in that it exceeded her own. 
He was certainly a paradox, this fellow, looking for 
all the world like a full-blooded specimen of negro 
257 


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and yet speaking with the tone and depth of a college 
professor. 

“ Rossini, too/’ she said, “ made use of the same 
story. Of course I had heard Rossini, but I was at 
a loss to know exactly what Sherwood meant. ‘ Well,’ 
he explained to me, ‘ I have heard that as with the 
ancient sorceress, your namesake, so with you — 
your suitors continually and mysteriously disappear. 
You remember an Englishman named Haviland?’ 

“ To be sure I did, and there was the beginning 
of my detached friendship with Neil Sherwood and 
the start of our little secret. For he seemed as 
interested as was I in learning what had happened 
to Bayard Haviland — what hole had swallowed him 
and gulfed him under. In fact, it was his idea to 
trace Haviland and, naturally, I was concerned in 
each development-” 

“ An unusual sort of clerk,” commented Pete 
dryly, “ to arouse such interest in two so widely 
divergent types as yourself and this newspaper¬ 
man.” 

She nodded emphatically. 

“ But Bayard was anything but the usual sort of 
clerk,” she said. “ Indeed, as I understood from 
my father, he held a confidential position in the bank, 
handling some of my father’s most vital accounts. 
He moved in the most exclusive set, having entree , 
as we were given to understand, because he was 
some sort of younger son of an old British family. 

I knew him well and liked him exceedingly-” 

at which rather proud and frank admission Pete 
opened his half-closed eyes. “ But what I can’t 
258 




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understand/’ pathetically, “ what I cannot lend my¬ 
self to believe is that such a man would stoop to 
attend a native feast, with its overdrinking and 
licentious dancing!” 

Pete noted her use of the English word, instead 
of its Hawaiian equivalent; and he also perceived 
her harsh criticism of the hula. All this, he realized, 
was but the obvious evidence of the whole note of 
snobbery in her voice and attitude; that snobbery 
which approached prudery and so little became her 
who was herself one-third native. He refrained 
from saying anything, however, contenting himself 
with smiling out of the fullness of his own knowledge. 

“ Ah, you smile,” she defended herself, “ thinking 
probably, from the nature of your business, you 
know men better than I, a mere woman. Yet you 
can hardly say you really knew Bayard Haviland, 
having only met him once and then under most unfair 
circumstances. Indeed,” she insisted, “ how such a 
man could even consider attending a native feast 
and, to that end, visit your place, is completely 
beyond my comprehension. I can only think it must 
have been the result of a trick-” 

“ It was,” snapped Pete crisply. “ Your father’s! ” 

“ My father’s! Do you mean-” but she 

stopped, refusing to believe what her intelligence 
told her was the truth. “ Oh, you are painting my 
poor father too blackly!” she cried. 


259 



CHAPTER XL 


“I don’t know about that!” retorted Pete, a bit 
incensed at this open accusation, following as it did 
on the heels of her show of snobbery. “ How else 
do you think, from your description of this Haviland, 
could I have attracted such a fellow to my vulgar 
den? No; it was your own father who laid the 
scheme, including me in the active operation of it! 

“ Let me explain, please,” he persisted, as she 
made to object. “ Your father himself had word 
sent to Haviland that there was to be a luau. But 
not a luau of the natives, as you thought; merely 
a native luau gotten up as a stunt by the most ultra 
set. I believe your worthy father even had a menu 
drawn up and enclosed to Haviland, a menu in the 
native language,” with a veiled sarcastic affectation 
of her snobbery, “ which showed such dainty courses 
as laulau , or pork, beef and salmon cooked together 
and wrapped in ti leaves, in case you don’t under¬ 
stand; limu, or edible seaweed; kukuinuts of sea 
eggs flavored with rock salt; papayas and bananas; 
calabashes of poi; and puddings of yams and taro. 

“ Naturally, your fine gentleman fell for all this 
and was not so suspicious as he might otherwise 
have been when he sighted my ramshackle place. 
He thought it all a merry wheeze, a stunt of society, 
you know, and probably woke up the next morning 
still thinking so!” 

“ But why?” she asked, leaning forward in her 
260 


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chair and so far forgetting her pride as to appeal 
to him, despite that insistent challenging note in his 
voice. “ Why should my poor father resort to such 
duplicity ?” 

“ Why?” he repeated. “ Well, you yourself have 
disclosed the clue, Miss Armida. Haviland was a 
sort of confidential clerk in the bank; it was your 
father’s bank and, therefore, he was confidential 
clerk to your father himself. He handled, as you 
have admitted, some of your father’s most vital 
accounts. Because of all this, it seems plain to me, 
your father wanted to get rid of him; like this 
Sherwood, he knew too much-” 

“ But Neil Sherwood was only a reporter. I 
don’t see the connection between the two, how Sher¬ 
wood could know too much, as you express it.” 

Pete operated the superciliary muscles over his 
eyes. 

“ No?” he said. “ Well, that’s simply because 
you do not know that Sherwood was in the islands 
for the main purpose of investigating war-profiteers 
and writing them up in the pages of a national maga¬ 
zine. He was what used to be called a muckraker 
and was only using the job of reporter on the Sub¬ 
scriber as a mask to hide his true business and as 
a means to expedite his uncovering of facts.” 

“ Oh!” she fairly gasped. 

“ It is true,” he nodded. “ Your father told me 
the story: the rise of sugar from the slump in 1913 
to the zenith in prices during the war and the con¬ 
comitant and most mysterious shortage of the staple 
supply. By the way, didn’t a confidential clerk in 
261 



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your father’s bank commit suicide in the summer of 
1913, all due to a nervous breakdown through worry 
over the sugar slump?” 

She nodded slowly. 

“ I believe I recall such a tragedy,” she said hesi¬ 
tantly, “ and I believe, further, it was to fill the 
vacancy that Bayard Haviland was borrowed from 
an Australian house.” 

“Clear as a trade-wind sky!” exclaimed Pete. 
Then, at her look of surprise and puzzlement, he 
explained: “I mean the interest Sherwood showed 
in the disappearance and present location of Havi¬ 
land.” 

“ Present location?” she took up his last words, 
swinging forward in her chair with the urgency of 

the thought. “ Do you mean you know-” But 

she stopped short at the sudden widening of his 
eyes and swiftly changing tone and manner, leaning 
back in the chair, said easily: 

“ Excuse me, but I don’t think I follow you. What 
was the real reason for Mr. Sherwood’s interest in 
Bayard Haviland?” 

“ You surely don’t know?” he countered quickly. 

She shook her head. 

“ Not even after all you have told me,” she 
admitted. 

“ Well,” he said, with a dry chuckle, “ it’s as 
plain as two and two to me! Neil Sherwood knew 
that Haviland had handled most of the sugar 
accounts of your father when he was busy inter¬ 
locking the directorates in the three companies of 
which he is now president and that, to learn the true 
262 



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reason for the shortage in sugar during the war 
and the tremendous rise in prices, he had only to 
find Haviland-” 

“ Find him; yes, yes!” 

“ And explain to Haviland that, in order to gag 
him, your father himself had shipped him out of the 
way.” 

“ And then-” 

“Why, then Haviland would speak, tell all he 
knew! Any man would do the same upon being so 
rudely awakened to the truth, and Sherwood felt 
Haviland would prove no exception. He was a clever 
hand, Sherwood, at nosing out the news and he had 
probably learned enough already to know that he 
needed only one man through whom to get the 
dope on your father-” 

“ And that man was Bayard Haviland!” 

“ Exactly,” Pete nodded. Then, with a mellow 
smile, he added: “ So you can understand now that 
I readily subscribe to what you first said — that 
Sherwood was not so much interested in you as in 
locating, through you, this Bayard Haviland.” 

“ But — but where is he now?” she whispered, the 
question coming at last in spite of herself. 

“ Bayard Haviland, you mean?” toying with her 
evident agitation. 

She nodded, gripping the arms of her chair in the 
tension of awaiting his answer. She could not trust 
herself to speak. 

“ Well,” he replied with a reminiscent chuckle, 
“ three weeks ago I received a letter from him, dated 
several weeks before that in Liverpool. He threat- 
263 





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ened to return here to do for your father and me —” 

“ Then he knows!” 

u Yes, I guess he surmises everything by now. But 
at the time I received the letter, I thought it only 
a joke, so I told your father that day he disappeared, 
but I remember now your father seemed to think 
distinctly otherwise. And I think otherwise of it 
myself today,” studying her narrowly. “ From your 
description of this fellow Haviland, I take him to be 
a man of his word and, therefore, I shouldn’t wonder 
a bit but he is on his way here right now!” 

She looked up sharply. 

“ On his way? And it’s over a month since he 
wrote the letter saying he was coming? Let’s see,” 
knuckling her brow. “ We’re six days from Market 
Street, nine from State Street and eleven from Broad¬ 
way -” 

“ And sixteen from Piccadilly Circus, as the adver¬ 
tisements say!” he laughed. He began suddenly 
fidgeting with an inside pocket of his pongee coat. 
“ In looking through the Subscriber this morning, 
after reading your reward and wondering how you 
would receive me,” he continued, “ I happened to 
notice this among the arrivals on the Hilonian” 
And he produced the newspaper, folded at the ship¬ 
ping page, and indicated a name among the published 
list of passengers. 

“ Bayard Haviland!” she cried, and leaped afoot, 
her face ghastly with emotion. 


264 



CHAPTER XLI 


Like a sleepwalker, Miss Armida was reaching 
for the desk phone when Pete’s voice came softly 
from behind her: 

“ But you do not know where Haviland is resid¬ 
ing!” 

“ Oh, he’s stopping at the Alexander Young, of 
course,” she replied, without thinking. Then recol¬ 
lecting herself, she turned round to see him sitting 
bolt upright in the wicker chair, his eyes opened so 
wide with wonderment they were showing their 
whites like a negro’s! 

She stifled a shudder, came back to her chair. 
Sitting down, she said, with an apparent calmness 
that did not fool him one whit: “ I think we have 
wandered far afield from our real subject.” 

“Not at all!” he maintained, with an air of 
authority. “ Indeed, Miss Armida, if you will suf¬ 
fer me to advise you as your only remaining male 
relative-” 

“My what?” she asked, a sharp, chilling note 
entering her voice. 

He smiled. His lids were again half-closed, the 
eyes between leveled calculatingly. 

“As your uncle, Miss Armida!” he said. 

She got swiftly afoot, drawing up her stout frame 
haughtily. 

“ My uncle!” she gasped. “ You mean-” 

“Your father’s only brother; stepbrother to be 
265 


SEA PLUNDER 


precise; the son of your grandmother, the Princess 
Kinuokalani! ” 

She slumped down in the chair. Her house of 
pride was in truth collapsed about her ears. Her 
uncle, this negroid-looking man who made a liveli¬ 
hood by carrying out the sinister schemes of her 
father; and her father that traitor who had kid¬ 
naped her fiance! 

“ Oh, what is it!” she asked wearily. “ What 
would you advise me to do?” 

“Take the bull by the horns,” he said slangily, 
almost maliciously. “ Make haste while the sun 
shines, and get yourself married to this Haviland! 
Then you can set forth in a steam schooner for two 
purposes: not only to find your father, but to get 
his parental blessing to the match when you find him. 
This fellow, Haviland, isn’t wealthy, is he?” 

She shook her head, but did not lift her eyes. 

“ Well, if that’s the case and you wait for the 
parental blessing until after you have found your 
worthy father, I’m afraid you’ll wait a long time. 
You know your father expects you to marry money! 
But, of course, I take it you still are interested in 
finding your father,” with a grim smile, “ even 
though your heart has naturally undergone a decided 
reaction toward his victim, Haviland!” 

“ He is still my father,” she murmured. “ But 
please don’t ask me to explain myself. I’m all in 
a whirl; I don’t know just what to do! And you 
have not told me yet the information you came here 
to divulge. Taku will soon return from the bank 
and I will be none the wiser. Pray go on with 
266 


SEA PLUNDER 


your story and I shall try not to interrupt. How did 
it happen my father disappeared?” 

She shaded her eyes with her hand, for all that 
the lanai was well curtained with passion vines, and 
prepared to listen. 

“ It was as simple as can be,” said Pete, studying 
her. “ In attempting to drink Sherwood under the 
table, in pursuance of his plot, your father himself 
was drunk under!” 

“ But,” she asked, without removing her hand, 
“ didn’t you say something about knock-out drops, 
as I believe you called them?” 

“ Yes,” he nodded. “ But a newspaperman is 
usually a pretty fair judge of liquor and we didn’t 
want to risk arousing his suspicions too early. Also, 
a newspaperman being a fair judge of liquor, it 
naturally follows he must have sampled quite a 
deal in his time and so have practiced up his stomach 
to be able to withstand a lot without ill effect. Your 
father, on the other hand, was not what I would 
call a good drinker — that is, he could not stand 
very much. So, before we could get around to dope 
Sherwood’s liquor, your father was already as drunk 
as a lord. 

“ There was a captain off a whaler in the bar¬ 
room,” he went on, “ and your father, in his drunken 
state, left his guest, the newspaperman, and coming 
out to the bar, engaged in conversation with the 
spouter skipper. It appeared that the captain was 
short-handed, having lost a boatload of his crew in 
a fight with the crew of another whaler off the 
Bonims. So he was eager to recruit some new hands 
267 


SEA PLUNDER 


and, to this end, was entertaining a group of long¬ 
shoremen at the bar. When these fellows were all 
drunk, the skipper called some of his mates off the 
blubber-boat in the channel and had them bundle 
the stevedores aboard. In the confusion and, due 
largely to the fact that the mates knew not one intoxi¬ 
cated man from the other, your father was taken 
with the rest. Sherwood, of course, by this time 
was well doped and, in a dead stupor, was also 
stowed ab-” 

“ But,” she interrupted, fluttering awake and re¬ 
moving her hand, “ but where were you, Mr. Peder- 
neira, throughout these happenings? Surely you 
knew my father 1” 

“ Certainly,” he agreed, with a smile, “ but you 
forget that I could not show myself while Sherwood 
remained in the shop. You see, Miss Armida,” he 
explained, “ in order to inveigle the newspaperman 
into coming to my blind pig in pursuance of your 
father’s plan, I had been put to it to hire a cab and, 
getting myself up as the Jehu, wait outside the 
Subscriber office in the pouring rain. 

“ When Sherwood, hastening on some news assign¬ 
ment, had finally appeared, he had hailed me and, as 
he leaped inside, I had dropped the hint that I knew 
of a good place to get a warming drink on such a 
wet day. He had fallen for the suggestion, so 
promptly I had driven him down to my place. But 
the fact that he thought I was the cab-driver forced 
me to keep dark and out of sight, and leave all fur¬ 
ther arrangements to your father and my bartender, 
Joao.” 


268 



SEA PLUNDER 


She appeared to be satisfied with his explanations. 

“ Then my father is aboard this whaler! But do 
you know the name, where it is now?” 

Pete nodded. 

“ Your father is aboard and, as I said, if he be¬ 
haves himself even moderately well, he’s still alive. 
The name of the grease-tanker is the Ballenas, 
Capt’n Ham Yardley commanding, at present cruis¬ 
ing on the Line grounds.” 

“ The Line grounds!” she repeated excitedly after 
him. “ But where are they?” 

“Oh, anywhere between Christmas Island and 
the Marshalls, from here to the Equator and below!” 

She puzzled for a moment, her brow knuckling. 

“ But,” she objected, “ it will be like searching 
for a needle in a haystack to attempt to find a ship in 
all that stretch of Pacific you have named!” 

“ Not a whaleship,” declared Pete confidently. 
“ The Ballenas not only is a square-rigger, sailing at 
much slower pace than the average steamer, but, 
say the crew have succeeded in capturing a few 
whales, she’ll be hove-to in mid-ocean, melting out 
the blubber, her try-works going full blast and cres¬ 
sets blazing fore and aft like danger signals through 
the night!” 

He paused to allow the description to sink in 
and form a convincing image. Then he continued, 
with seeming generosity: 

“ Now, here’s what I’ll do for you, Miss Armida. 
I’ll charter a steam schooner and put a crew aboard 
and provision her, sending all bills to you for okeh 
and final payment. I have the logical ship in mind, 
269 


SEA PLUNDER 


a power schooner, the Iliokai or Sea Dog, which has 
been tied up for the past three months at the wharf 
below my place. It will only be the matter of a 
couple of days to arrange for the charter, the crew 
and the founding. 

“ By that time,” he smiled, “ Bayard Haviland will 
have looked you up, undoubtedly, and you can 
soften whatever natural resentment he may still 
entertain for your father by explaining how the 
poor man has himself been hoist by his own petard, 
caught in the meshes of his own net, and so forth! 

“ There is that one other arrangement which I 
have previously advised,” he ended, “ and with this 
accomplished, you can then set forth together, 
dropping down to about ten degrees north and zig¬ 
zagging across the equatorial Pacific much after 
the fashion made famous in the submarine zone 
during the recent war.” 

“ But will you go with us?” she asked, some un¬ 
spoken idea probably lurking in the back of her head. 

“ Not me!” he refused colloquially. “ You don’t 
find me butting into any honeymoon! And besides,” 
he smiled wryly, “ I don’t think Haviland would 
much appreciate my company!” 

In his own mind, he had planned to leave for 
San Francisco just as soon as he had disposed of 
his liquor-running schooner, Sea Dog, to her for a 
goodly price! There, in San Francisco, he intended 
to cash her various checks through the local clearing 
house, depositing the sums in his own bank and 
thus keeping the identity of that bank a secret from 
herself and her father. He realized that with the 
270 


SEA PLUNDER 


certifying of the largest check, her account would 
be immediately debited the amount of the reward; 
and once the stamped paper was in his black hands, 
there would be no upholding or retracting it. 

“ But it will be like an evidence of good faith on 
your part to accompany the expedition,” she remon¬ 
strated. “ And knowing the sea and whaling ships 
as you do, your knowledge should prove a valuable 
adjunct even to our sailing master.” 

He thought it over through the smoke of another 
cigarette. It would be quite a worthwhile revenge 
to see his stepbrother’s face when he learned, after 
so carefully blanketing Sherwood, that his daughter 
had married a penniless aristocrat and all his efforts 
gone for naught! In fact, half his life had Pete 
waited in fond hope of witnessing such a moment! 

“ But about Haviland,” he pressed, thereby show¬ 
ing signs of weakening. “ If we rescue Sherwood, 
it would be advisable that this Englishman should 
be allied with the Harbottle family. But not so 
much to overcome his objections to me,” he hastened 
to add, “ as to your father. His lot should be defi¬ 
nitely linked with yours, Miss Armida,” he insisted, 
“ so that he won’t divulge too much of your father’s 
affairs to this news writer!” 

“ I think I understand you,” she said, quietly, her 
face flushing under its swarth and her eyes down¬ 
cast. “ But then, nobody wants to shake up one’s 
own family skeletons-” 

“ You mean,” he cried out, “ that you’ll marry 
Haviland before starting on this expedition? If 
so, I’ll go!” And he looked at her eagerly. 

271 



SEA PLUNDER 


She strove to appear demure, but a proud little 
smile flickered about the corners of her generous 
mouth. 

“ I believe I can safely promise that,” she said. 


27 2 


CHAPTER XLII 


Down in the dark passage of the Ballenas, Wey- 
more Harbottle had continued to eavesdrop while, 
with his eyes, he had watched the steady retreat of 
those sunbeams through the door of the carpenter 
shop. It was like reading a sundial. Outside the 
sun was sweeping high and higher up the sky and, 
within, those ribbons of dancing golden motes were 
withdrawing and slowly fading until, at last, they 
were no more. 

It was noon, he realized, and accordingly began to 
fear that the skipper would be raising a hullabaloo 
about the tardiness of his lunch. He decided to come 
to conclusions. He had been thinking intricately, 
while he eavesdropped, and he had no more time to 
spare. So he shoved wide the door of the carpenter 
shop and, intruding himself upon the sill, faced the 
surprised Clare O’Brine and the even more aston¬ 
ished Sherwood. 

“ Beg pardon for listening in,” he began before 
they could find tongue, “ but I heard my name men¬ 
tioned in passing by and thought it must be some¬ 
thing important to me. It was!” he graced their 
confusion with a smile. “ And I thank you, Sher¬ 
wood, for at last clearing up that mystery surround¬ 
ing your attachment for my daughter! 

“ But sit down, please; don’t get excited, Neil!” 
as Sherwood leaped afoot, in his precipitation knock¬ 
ing off from the wooden horse that board he had 
273 


SEA PLUNDER 


been sitting upon. “ Remember there’s a lady pres¬ 
ent and violence would be in exceeding bad taste! 
Besides, Sherwood,” he added, breathlessly, seeking 
an opening to swing the balance in his favor, “ you 
won’t feel half so angry when I show you this 
affair isn’t so lopsided as it appears. I have some¬ 
thing to offer Miss O’Brine and yourself in exchange 
for this unwitting confidence!” 

“ You’ve been spying upon us!” barked Sherwood. 
“ But out with it! What have you got to offer?” 
And he crouched against the carpenter’s bench under 
the porthole as if ready to spring. 

“ Merely a plan of escape, a means of deserting 
this hell ship! There’s that lifeboat trailing in our 
wake,” he spoke rapidly. “ It’s furnished with pro¬ 
visions, a breaker of water and another of hard¬ 
tack taken from the skipper’s whaleboat that time 
Yardley browbeat Kroderen’s men. With my help 
and ingenuity, it’ll be a simple matter to clamber 
down into it and so cut clear and get away-” 

“ But when!” interrupted Clare O’Brine excitedly. 
“ Oh, when can we do this?” 

“Tonight!” with surprising certitude. “When 
it’s dark!” 

Sherwood, relaxing from the crouch, shook his 
head. 

“ But we can’t go over that taffrail,” he pointed 
out, all enmity seemingly forgotten in judiciously 
weighing the plan. “ Those flares throw a glare over 
the whole deck and they’ll surely pipe us from 
amidships! ” 

Harbottle nodded quickly, almost it appeared 
274 



SEA PLUNDER 


gaily. The situation was rapidly swinging round 
into his hands. 

“ I know that,” he agreed. “ But there’s just 
where I come in,” with emphasis, his lean lips ex¬ 
panding in a broader smile. “ With my help and 
ingenuity, serving in the cabin as I do and being 
naturally used therefore to all the movements of 
the afterguard, it’ll be up to me to clear the way 
and stow Yardley in some empty bunk if possible 
and, best of all, asleep. Then we can open one of 
the transom ports, slide down the painter to that 
boat and, without any one seeing us from the deck, 
cast off in the darkness and row away!” 

“ Sounds workable, all right,” admitted Sherwood. 
Yet narrowly he studied the hap a haole as though 
gripped by a return of his inimical distrust. “ But 
tonight you say, Harbottle?” questioningly. “ How 
can that be done? Neither Sam nor I will be able 
to help. We go back to duty at four, this after¬ 
noon, and we won’t be free till after ten tonight.” 

But the steward met his objections with convinc¬ 
ing readiness. 

“ Make it ten tonight then,” he said, “ or as soon 
thereafter as I can get rid of Yardley and get matters 
decently fixed. Don’t worry, Neil. You have only 
to tell Sam; I’ll attend to all the rest. About ten, 
say, I’ll make forward through this passage and 
knock lightly, a couple of times, upon the fo’c’s’le 
door. You two be waiting for the signal. I’ll have 
Miss O’Brine here all ready by that time to go 
overside. 

“ And now that’s all settled,” he switched hastily, 
275 


SEA PLUNDER 


as if fearing they might suddenly change their minds, 
“ I’ll have to leave you and race aft to set the table 
for lunch. I’m late as it is,” he pointed out, “ and 
Yardley’s no doubt roaring about the cabin like a 
caged lion, right now!” And almost before they 
realized what they had let themselves in to do, he 
was bowing and backing out the doorway. 

“ You’d better come along with me, Miss 
O’Brine,” came his voice from the passage. “ The 
skipper will be missing you, too!” 

It was almost as if he dreaded to leave them 
together lest they might talk it over and arrive at 
an utterly variant decision. But Clare O’Brine 
seemed to have something she wished to voice to 
Sherwood alone. She continued to linger while they 
listened to his step retreating along the passageway 
— an accentuated step as though to show, by its 
unmistakably dwindling sound, that he was indeed 
acting aboveboard, no longer spying upon them, but 
willing to take himself off and suffer her to follow 
or remain, as she saw fit. 

She turned back to Sherwood hastily, agitatedly. 

“ Do you —do you trust him?” she whispered. 
“After all the lies he has told!” 

Neil nodded. 

“ Yes, he said, quietly, “ for he’s in the same 
canoe with us now, a fellow-conspirator and, as such, 
another hidden enemy of Yardley. But the ques¬ 
tion is not so much whether I trust him, after all. 
It’s do you trust me! ” looking down at her gravely. 
“ Will you risk yourself in my hands, commit your 
life and welfare to my management of that lifeboat? 

276 


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I take it that, with Sam’s seconding, I’ll be in 
charge; and you’ve already suffered enough in that 
boat to know just what I mean!” 

She couldn’t help it, she trembled at the recollec¬ 
tion; but bravely she lifted her tiny blond head and 
answered his appeal with glorious eyes. 

“ I do trust you, Neil!” she breathed; and there 
was something about her warm breath on his face, 
something in her quavering utterance of his name, 
in the trustful surrender of her velvety eyes, which 
made him forget himself, his situation, that he was 
obligated to her for her friendship and aid. Before 
he was aware, he had kissed her upon the lips! 
Then, too late, he jerked his head back — shocked, 
mortified by his action, full of regret. 

“ Oh, I’m so sorry 1” he murmured in quivering 
voice. “ But I didn’t mean to do that — it’s not 
fair — I’m beholden to you — and I took a mean 
advantage-” 

“ But I’m glad! ” and she sighed as though rid 
of some intolerable burden, and her eyes dropped 
to hide their sudden flood of tears. “ I had thought 
I was so utterly alone, but now ”— looking down and 
speaking soft and tremulously — “ now I know I’d 
trust myself anywhere with you, Neil — in that 
lifeboat, on a desert island, anywhere!” 

But he looked at her astounded, stirred by a sur¬ 
prise too deep to express. She flushed to the roots of 
her hair, then turned and fled as though in dismay 
at her own boldness. 

There was no chance to call her back. By the 
time he reached the door, she had rejoined Har- 
277 



SEA PLUNDER 


bottle near that bright entrance to the blubber-room. 
He watched her disappear into the darkness beyond, 
then slowly and thoughtfully made his way forward. 


278 


CHAPTER XLIII 


That afternoon, following the late lunch and in 
obedience to the injunction Harbottle had previously- 
whispered to her as they made through the passage, 
Clare O’Brine pleaded a headache and requested the 
skipper’s permission to be allowed to withdraw from 
the after-dinner conversation. She had been in¬ 
structed by Harbottle to give this excuse, but, due 
to all the excitement of the morning, the odd fact 
was that it was the truth! She thought she might 
nap a while in her stateroom, she said. 

“ But you’d better go on deck, Miss,” suggested 
Yardley in unusually affable mood. “ I don’t know 
nothin’ better’n ocean ozone for curin’ headaches, 
though I ain’t never bothered by them things 
myself.” 

At a vehement headshake from Harbottle behind 
the skipper’s back, however, she persisted in her 
original intention and was suffered to retire. The 
steward had priorly pointed out that one should 
rest up against the hardships of the night facing 
them. He had, however, other unvoiced reasons for 
not wanting her about, now, particularly on the 
quarter-deck where she might look over the rail at 
that lifeboat trailing astern. 

And it was not so much that he feared her glances 
would prove telltale of what they had in mind to do, 
and therefore lead to sure detection and a resultant 
279 


SEA PLUNDER 


thwarting of their plans. He had plans of his own 
in regard to that lifeboat, a private scheme to which 
he must attend before they should cast off in it that 
evening. 

The skipper’s mood, as it happened, fitted this 
scheme like a glove. Yardley had recovered from 
the vexation he had felt at having to wait on the 
steward’s tardiness for his lunch; he had leaped, 
indeed, to the opposite extreme. He was in expan¬ 
sive trim, wanting to talk. So, lacking the girl as a 
listener, he now invited Harbottle to sit down with 
him for a little chat. 

“ Luck’s favorin’ me, Steward,” he said. “ Them 
mutineers have quieted like a coupla whipped dorgs! 
Why, they didn’t so much as quibble larst night when 
I turned them to without givin’ ’em a bite to eat! 
And more’n that,” he hastened to add at the slight 
smile on the other’s swarthy face, “ they didn’t have 
nary a hand in thet shirt-trick this forenoon. That 
was Evans and Carlin, a measly pair, what are 
havin’ all they kin do to fight it out among theirselves 
down in the blubber-room! 

“ But them two mutineers,” he veered back to his 
main topic. “ I guess I’ve putty well showed ’em 
who’s marster around here! Say, do you know 
what they was put to doin’, this mornin’, arter that 
cow was all flenched?” 

Harbottle shook his head abstractedly. He was 
wondering, in his own mind, why the skipper should 
take this tangent and persist in talking about Sam 
and Sherwood. Had Yardley heard something of 
their conspiracy? Was he suspicious? The per- 
280 


SEA PLUNDER 


turbed steward wished now he had kept a stiff face 
and not smiled, even so slightly as he had, at the 
skipper’s fallacious assumption that the mutineers 
had returned to work without eating! . . . But 
Yardley was speaking. 

“ They was put to the most dangerous dooty on 
deck,” he was saying, “ that of shifting the ile from 
the coolin’-tank to the hatchways. But you don’t 
know nothin’ about that, eh?” at the blank look 
in the other’s brown eyes. “ You ain’t got nary 
an idee?” 

Harbottle was quick, however, to give a reason 
for his ignorance. 

“ I’ve been below in the blubber-room most of the 
time, sir, and I don’t know much about the work on 
deck. Though to hear me explain it all to Miss 
O’Brine,” he added with a smile, “ you’d think I 
was an expert!” 

But the captain did not return his smile. His 
tiny eyes swiveled suddenly in his great face and 
peered toward that stateroom door behind which the 
girl had retired. For a consciously long time he 
stared, and when he remembered to look back again 
at Harbottle, he appeared to have lost the thread of 
his narrative. 

“What in tarnashun was I sayin’?” he asked. 

“ You were telling me,” studying him narrowly, 
“ about that dangerous task the mutineers were set 
to, this morning.” 

“ Oh, yes; shiftin’ the ile! Wal, I’ll tell you about 
it. You know, arter the harpooners bail out the 
b’ilin’ ile into that copper coolin’-tank where it cools 
281 


SEA PLUNDER 


off a little, some of the hands have to bail it all out 
ag’in into enormous casks which contain three hun- 
dert and fifty gallons, or over a ton in weight of ile 
and cask and everythin’. Then they move them 
heavy tuns across the deck to the fore and after 
hatches — you’ve noticed the boards all cut up by 
their chimes?” 

Harbottle nodded, his interest mounting. 

“Wal, that’s risky work on them greasy boards, 
even when the ship ain’t rollin’,” pursued Yardley. 
“ On’y four sailors at most kin get a fair hold on 
thet hogshead, four puny men to handle over a ton 
in weight! And when the old barky heaves a bit, 
with that cask halfway across the deck and nothin’ 
but ile to grip with your feet, it’s dollars to dough¬ 
nuts some one may stumble and that — that ’ud 
mean a slide of thet heavy cask ag’in the bulwark 
and a heap of mangled corpses in the lee scuppers! 

“ Oh, I know! ” he insisted, as Harbottle looked 
shocked and incredulous. “ I’ve see’d it happen 
often enuff! But that’s the pleasant dooty I put 
Curly and Samson to, this mornin’,” and he smiled 
grimly. “ I’ll bet,” he ended, “ they was mighty 
thankful each time the lashin’s was safely passed 
about them casks and the ile was gurglin’ down 
through the canvas hose to them vats stowed at the 
bottom of the Ballenas!” 

“ Why, I never dreamt of that!” exclaimed Har¬ 
bottle, oddly disquieted. “ But I guess you’re right, 
Captain. You’ve surely showed them you’re master 
around here!” 

This testimony to his strength appeared to be just 
282 


SEA PLUNDER 


what Yardley was awaiting. It pleased him down to 
his boots. 

“ Oh, luck’s with me, all right!” he agreed, waxing 
enthusiastic and summing up. “ No more trouble 
from them mutineers; barr’ls of sparm and ile bein’ 
tried out every day from those three whoppin’ 
whales; and here I’ve found this ambergrease w’uth 
all of a cool hundert thousand; and there’s that fine, 
strappin’ girl aboard!” 

Again his eyes slewed around toward that door of 
his former stateroom. 

“ What’s the diff’runce, arternoon or evenin’?” he 
muttered in husky voice, as if less in question to 
Harbottle than in strange debate with himself. 
“ There’s alius somebody on deck, night or day, with 
ears out a mile! Say,” and he started to rise from 
the table, his eyes beady, his lips suddenly moist, 
“ I’ve harf a mind to-” 

“ But the ship’s run, sir!” interposed Harbottle, 
sharp and excitedly. “ That’s no safe place to hide 
the ambergris, if you don’t mind me saying so!” 
He perceived only too plainly what Yardley had in 
mind to do, and he was feverishly anxious to switch 
his thoughts and put him again in leash, as it were, 
with a new bone to gnaw upon! 


283 



CHAPTER XLIV 


Slowly Ham Yardley swung his eyes from that 
stateroom door. He looked full at Harbottle and, 
as he glared, came realization of what the steward 
had said. The hinges of his jaw went loose, and his 
great hams of hands gripped the edge of the table 
like the clamps of a vise. He leaned far over upon 
those white-knuckled hands, shoving his brick-red 
face close to Harbottle. 

“What ain’t no safe hidin’-place! ” he barked. 
“ What in hell do you mean! Say, what do you know 
about it, anyhow!” 

“ The ship’s run, I mean, sir,” repeated Harbottle 
stoutly. He was sure the skipper had heard him the 
first time, but was seeking to deny the very evidence 
of his ears. “ The ship’s run,” he insisted, stead¬ 
fastly. “ And I’m not the only one who’s detected 
it as the hiding-place of the ambergris. Why, sir, 
everybody knows that!” 

Yardley was overcome. He slapped back in his 
chair and gazed aghast at the steward, all thought 
of the girl forgotten in his swift dismay. 

“Everybody!” he echoed, his lips going dry and 
fluttering uncontrollably. 

“ At least all the afterguard,” qualified Harbottle, 
nodding. 

“ But I thought,” groped Yardley, in helpless be¬ 
wilderment, “ I thought nobody would l’arn what I 
done with it!” 


284 


SEA PLUNDER 

Harbottle smiled, sure now that the real crisis 
was past. 

“ It’s smelling up all the small stores, sir,” he 
pointed out, “and that’s just what’s let the cat 
out of the bag!” 

It was true. His discovery, that morning, of the 
fragrance of the ambergris pervading the cabin larder 
had led him, finally, to voice his startling conclusion. 
Still, however, the captain sought to refute him. 

“ But it’s doubly stowed away,” he maintained. 
“ Not on’y in gunny-sacks, but ag’in in them two 
chests what used to protect the mush and raisins 
from the rats!” 

Yardley was headstrong and there was small use, 
the steward perceived, in exposing his own hand by 
explaining the simplicity of his deduction. He 
decided, rather, to call upon his inventive ingenuity 
for a stronger and more convincing case. 

“ Why, only this forenoon, sir,” he proceeded to 
lie glibly, “ when I served dessert to the port steerage 
gang after they were relieved at ten o’clock, Mr. 
Carthew remarked in my presence how much the 
ginger cookies, and even the canned peaches smelled 
of ambergris. He could whiff it in the coffee, he 
claimed, and he grinned knowingly at Portalegre and 
the others. 

“ ‘ Ho, Yardley’s planted that stuff down in the 
ship’s run, I’ll bet!’ he said. ‘ And just to think 
the old fool went to all the bother of clearing us 
out of the cabin, little reckoning we’d scent the 
hiding-bunk in every pinch of food we ate!’ ” 

The captain showed no resentment at thus hearing 
285 


SEA PLUNDER 


what his first mate was supposed to have said. He 
received the blow passively, not realizing that at the 
hour named, Harbottle was sneaking along the pas¬ 
sage in pursuit of Miss O’Brine. All Yardley knew, 
all he cared, was that his secret was out! 

He sat and stared at the steward with ratty, driven 
eyes, and the wily hapa haole, to allow his words to 
sink in, maintained silence. For moments then, there 
was no sound in the cabin save the murmur of the 
sea along the ship’s quarter and the breathing of the 
skipper, heavy and labored, as though with asthma. 

At last, with a gulp, Yardley pulled himself 
together. 

“ But what kin I do?” he appealed to Harbottle. 
“ It’s the best place I know, the on’y safe bunk, 
and I never dreamt — But what’s the matter with 
you, man! ” angrily. “ Why in tarnashun don’t 
you pipe up! Are you tongue-tied? Ain’t you got 
nothin’ to su’jest?” 

Had he only known it, Harbottle was diplo¬ 
matically holding his peace just to wring this appeal 
from him and force him back into his old dependent 
position. It was the steward’s cue. 

“ Something to suggest? A new hiding-place?” he 
exclaimed. “ Why, certainly, Captain Yardley; 
that’s easy! Listen, sir,” leaning over the table 
confidentially. “ There’s that lifeboat trailing in our 
wake; there’s that treasure neatly split into two 
parts, and there’s that cuddy in the forward end 
of the lifeboat, all empty and waiting to conceal at 
least one half of it! 

“ Sir, don’t you see it?” he pressed eagerly, for 
286 


SEA PLUNDER 


more reasons than he cared to name. “ Nobody 
will know then where the stuff is hidden, and nobody 
on deck will see us make the change. We can throw 
open one of those transom ports,” indicating the 
square windows to either side of the sternpost, 
“ and then we have only to rig a sling, sir, to lower 
the chests down!” 

“ That’s a prime idee,” agreed Yardley and he 
continued to nod as he thought the scheme over. 

What did not strike him at all was how strange it 
was that this man who, ashore, would be rated 
many times a millionaire, should show now such 
interest in the disposal of the ambergris. The truth 
was that Harbottle was, indeed, a son of his fathers, 
particularly that immediate father who had married 
the Hawaiian princess for her lands! But, sensing 
nothing of this greediness yeasting in his steward, 
Yardley went on, his mind made up. 

“ That’s the ticket, all right!” And he got swiftly 
afoot and shoved the koa table to one side, then 
dropped to his knees and lifted the tiny hatch out 
of the deck. 

As he lowered himself into the dark ship’s run, 
he explained to Harbottle the manner in which he 
had hidden the ambergris. There was no use trying 
to keep up the secret, he felt, inasmuch as the 
steward knew such a deal already. 

He had chopped the fatty ambergris into smaller 
chunks about the size of lumps of coal. These he 
had stuffed, flatly, into the two gunny-sacks. But, 
fearing the perfume might escape through the inter¬ 
stices in the sacking and thus penetrate the cabin 
287 


SEA PLUNDER 


stores, as Harbottle claimed had in truth happened, 
he had stowed the bags into those ironbound chests 
which formerly, as a precaution against the depre¬ 
dations of the rats, had contained the air-tight 
paper cartons of cereals, raisins and gingersnaps. 
Then he had placed the two chests on the sloping 
bottom of the run and piled on top the flails of tea 
and bags of coffee, sugar and flour. 

“ I’ve got a job and a harf to git them out now, 
Harbottle,” he ended, “ so while I’m busy down here, 
you run into the alleyway and git a length of manila 
out of one of the lockers to reeve into a sling.” 

By the time the steward returned with the inch- 
and-a-half whale line, however, Captain Yardley had 
succeeded in extricating one of the chests from 
under the stores. He shouldered it up upon the 
edge of the hatch, then clambered out after it and 
gave a cursory inspection to the bowline on a bight 
Harbottle had made in the rope. 

“ That’s all right for droppin’ you overside,” he 
commented, “ but the most I need for them chests, 
on account of their juttin’ iron-work, is a simple 
bail-sling. But here you are! ” unscrewing the catch 
on the starboard port and throwing it wide open. 
“ Scramble through and I’ll lower you smartly on 
thet bo’sun’s chair. Swing out as you go and clap 
a hold on the bight of that painter when she slacks. 
That’ll help to draw the boat closer under the over¬ 
hang and give you a fair lead to pull yourself in 
over her bows.” 

Kicking out from the counter as he dropped 
jerkily down, Harbottle set himself to swinging in 
288 


SEA PLUNDER 


a wide arc, and thus, as the lifeboat strained, then 
slackened on her painter, succeeded in catching hold 
of the bight. But he had all he could do, the next 
moment, to maintain his grasp as the boat yanked 
back viciously at the end of the tow-rope. He 
found himself dangling betwixt wind and water, as 
the sea phrase has it, and torn between two oppos¬ 
ing forces — that dragging lifeboat and the old 
Ballenas which seemed, all at once, lifting and 
plunging monstrously. 

He breathed a sigh of relief as he landed upon the 
tiny foredeck roofing the cuddy; then, with the 
erratic jumping of the boat, he was almost spilled 
over the low gunwale. It was a squeamish shock to 
his stomach after the familiar steadier movement of 
the ship. As he clung to the bollard in the deck and 
cautiously removed the bowline from about his 
thighs, he was surprised to note that the sea was 
uncommonly choppy, broken with whitecaps and 
stretching on under the sun in a yeasty mass toward 
the girding horizon. 

“That’s a cross-swell!” Yardley called down to 
him in bated voice. At feeling the rope slacken, the 
skipper had thrust out his head from the transom 
port and noted his steward’s predicament. “ It’s 
rollin’ up from the south’ard,” he went on to explain, 
“ and runnin’ counter to current and mild trade, it’s 
even settin’ the old grease-tank a-bobbin’! But are 
you ready, below thar?” 

Harbottle nodded as he made himself as small as 
possible on that foredeck. The skipper withdrew his 
head and the bowline started dancing up toward the 
289 


SEA PLUNDER 


open port. A few moments later, in much the same 
manner that Harbottle himself had been lowered, the 
oblong ironbound chest began coming down. Bracing 
his knee against the foremost thwart, the steward 
pulled hand over hand on the painter, drawing the 
boat forward under that dropping box. 

It was just then that sounds of a loud commotion 
came from the deck amidships — groaning noises, 
yells, a pistol-sharp report, and then a dull but 
tremendous thud which seemed to shake the ship 
from stem to stern. The skipper must have been 
flung off his feet by that shuddering thud, for, on 
the heels of it, the rope started smoking over the 
port-sill and the chest came whizzing down! 


290 


CHAPTER XLV 


It was lucky for Harbottle he had stepped aft 
of that foredeck to haul in on the painter. With 
a splintering bang, the chest hit the deck and it 
would have toppled off into the sea with the rebound, 
only Harbottle let go the painter and made a sudden 
grab for it. 

The skipper’s end of the line came flying through 
the air and struck him like a whiplash about the 
head. But he held onto the heavy box and, straining 
and heaving, almost capsizing the boat, finally suc¬ 
ceeded in lifting it up and over upon a thwart. 

Something had happened amidships, he knew, but 
what it was he had no means of telling. He looked 
up, as he caught his breath after his exertions, 
momentarily expecting Yardley to stick his scarred 
face out of the port. But time passed; he breathed 
more easily, and still no skipper appeared. 

He was sure then. Whatever it was that had 
occurred to the starboard watch, amidships, had 
proved of such moment that the skipper had been 
hurriedly summoned from the cabin! And, in his 
new distraction, Yardley had forgotten the steward 
below in the lifeboat, forgotten even that paramount 
business of transferring the ambergris! It must 
be something troublesomely urgent indeed. Yet 
Harbottle found himself but little interested in sur¬ 
mising what it could be. He was indignant, rather, 
at the affront he felt had been given him! 

291 


SEA PLUNDER 


Yardley had left him to shift for himself. He 
almost wished, in his resentment, it was the hour 
appointed for the desertion and that Sam, Sherwood 
and the girl were below in the eccentric boat with 
him. But things not being so fortunately postured, 
he could only bide his time, he realized, and, swallow¬ 
ing his wrath, attend to the duty of stowing the 
sea chest. 

He removed from the cuddy the kegs of drinking 
water and ship’s biscuits which previously had been 
taken from the skipper’s whaleboat. In their stead, 
he shoved the chest under the foredeck. By means 
of stray lanyards hanging about the boat, he fastened 
the breaker of water and tiny barrel of hard-tack 
to the frames at the turn of the bilge. Then he 
looked about for something else to occupy his time, 
and, to this end, coiled carefully in the stern sheets 
the whale line which, after striking him, had splashed 
in the water. 

All the while, he was hoping for the reappearance 
of Yardley. But still there was no sign of the skip¬ 
per, and he began to fear he would have to make his 
way back, unaided, to the ship. He hated to think 
of swinging on that towrope betwixt wind and water, 
but there remained no other method, now that Yard- 
ley was gone. Much as he disliked the means, he 
was at last forced to adopt it and start shinning 
up the painter for the deck. 

By the time he had reached the lurching taffrail, 
his arms felt as though they were yanked from their 
sockets. Winded and stiff, he dropped over upon 
the restless quarter-deck without any one seeing him. 

292 


SEA PLUNDER 


But this was comparatively easy, as the men seemed 
all huddled amidships and strangely silent, their legs 
spread wide to the heave of the ship in the cross¬ 
swell and their eyes focussed upon some point of 
common interest in the waist. 

As he sat there, recovering from his climb and 
leaning back against the taffrail, Harbottle could not 
make out what it was they were looking at on 
account of the interposition of try-works and other 
paraphernalia cluttering the deck and obstructing his 
view. But what he sensed strongly was the quietude 
brooding over the blubber-ship. 

It was uncanny. The air was crystalline with mid¬ 
afternoon sunshine; yet the usual mid-afternoon 
accompaniment of toil was gone. There was no 
sound of cooper’s mallet, mincing-knife, harpooners’ 
forks and skimmers; no slap and slither of horse 
pieces sliding across the deck. Only the crackle of 
burning fritters, the slight sizzle of boiling oil punc¬ 
tuated the steady wash of the yeasty sea, as the old 
barky rolled in the cross-swell. A paralysis of 
tragedy hung over the sun-bathed ship and her 
somber crew! 

He got afoot and started forward, not knowing 
what to make of it all, but keen to note every 
feature. He could see straggling members of the 
port watch, their sleep, no doubt, broken by that 
tremendous thud, still piling out of the fo’c’s’le hatch 
and striding aft into the waist. He heard husky 
tones, but had trouble recognizing them as Yard- 
ley’s, they were so remarkably subdued! 

“ That hawser all trapped and parbuckled, boys?” 

293 


SEA PLUNDER 


he was asking. “ Wal, now, haul away and snake 
that cask for’rd, and we’ll git poor Petrie out from 
behind!” 

It was Petrie, then; something had happened to 
the fourth mate! 

As he neared the gallows over the booby-hatch, 
Harbottle suddenly saw a white skirt swirl out from 
beyond the try-works. It was Clare O’Brine, of 
course. She started hurriedly aft, her hands cover¬ 
ing her eyes as if in dread of seeing what was 
being uncovered amidships. He caught her by the 
sleeve as she made to pass him, unaware. 

“What is it, Miss O’Brine? What has hap¬ 
pened?” he asked. 

She dropped her eyes and looked at him with eyes 
that were tearful in a face white as though thickly 
powdered. 

“Mr. Petrie!” she gulped. “But don’t you 
know?” with sudden astonishment. 

Harbottle shook his head. 

“ He’s been killed,” she said. “ Jammed between 
that heavy hogshead and the bulwark. Oh, it’s 
terrible — and all the result, Captain Yardley says, 
of this cross-swell tumbling us about. But to think, 
Mr. Harbottle, that Sam and Mr. Sherwood were 
engaged in this very work this morning! That’s 
what frightens me,” in a quivering low whisper. 
“ I can’t help feeling that only because their watch 
wasn’t on deck — only by that narrow margin did 
they escape the same dreadful fate as poor Mr. 
Petrie!” And she shivered in the sunlight and 
would have gone on, but Harbottle held her. 

294 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Tell me all about it, please!” he begged and, in a 
few broken sentences, she complied. 

It appeared that one of those enormous casks, 
containing three hundred and fifty gallons of tried- 
out oil, had taken charge of the deck, as the ship 
lurched violently in the cross-swell, and gone skid¬ 
ding down the canted greasy boards toward the 
lee rail. Mr. Moseby, in charge of the watch, had 
hastily attempted to lasso a line about the huge 
hogshead, the other end made fast to a bitt on 
the deck. Meanwhile, the fourth mate, Petrie, had 
leaped in between two of the quartet having hand¬ 
holds on the vat. 

But even with the addition of Petrie’s goodly 
strength and the successful dropping of Moseby’s 
noose about the cask, there had been no stopping 
its mad career. The line had strained, then snapped 
in two. That was the pistol-sharp report Harbottle 
had heard down in the lifeboat! 

The next moment, with a thud that shook the 
ship from truck to keelson, the cask had brought up 
against the lee bulwark, tearing a six-foot splinter 
from the groaning rail. The four men whose duty 
it was to handle the hogshead had escaped with their 
lives, though one lay whimpering in the lee scuppers 
with a wrenched shoulder. Mr. Petrie, however, had 
been caught between the complaining bulwark and 
that cask of ton weight and, before he could utter a 
sound, been crushed to death! 

Moseby had lost his nerve at this sudden taking 
off of his mate, and even up to the time when Har¬ 
bottle left the girl and drew near, could be seen 
295 


SEA PLUNDER 


sitting on the hatch-cover, shivering as though in a 
fit. 

“ Kroderen,” said Yardley to the sailmaker, as 
Harbottle came within earshot of his subdued voice, 
“ git palm and needle, and fashion a canvas shroud 
jest as soon as you kin. But you’d better hump 
yourself, Sails! You know the old sayin’ that a 
gale alius follows a death at sea? Wal, look thar, 
man!” And he pointed off to the south by west, 
where black clouds were to be seen banked down 
around the horizon and driving up in a flying wedge 
into the summer sky! 

“ There’s a squall makin’ up on the back of this 
cross-swell,” he gave out, “ and it may larst a day 
or an hour, I don’t know which. But should it 
come on a solid blow, Kroderen, and for so long a 
spell we have to drop whalin’ for seamanship, you’ll 
fill pore Petrie’s billet as fourth mate of sail! ” 


296 


CHAPTER XLVI 


It is a sailor superstition, as Captain Yardley had 
said, that a gale always succeeds a death at sea and, 
while it had not been borne out following the death 
of his former steward, still, that must have been the 
proverbial exception to prove the gloomy theory. 
Within a half hour, from southern rim to zenith and 
beyond, the sky was blackly furrowed with nimbus 
clouds like a newly turned field. The sun was 
obscured save where its beams glinted dazzling as 
X-rays upon the velvety edges of the clouds. A 
pale, murky twilight and humid closeness prevailed 
below, and the sea yeasted up, white and lumpy as 
dough, and the wind came fitfully, in damp puffs, out 
of the sou’ by west. 

It might prove only a tropical squall, whose full 
track they would miss and whose torrent of rain and 
blast of wind would be over, accordingly, before they 
were well begun. But, again, it might turn out to 
be a thick black squall that would belch wind and 
water at them, off and on, for days. 

Captain Yardley could not tell which, but in 
hopes of the first and a prompt return to his whaling 
labors, he determined to remain hove-to, with the 
cutting-stage slung over the starboard side and that 
bull whale towing out from the bow like an impro¬ 
vised sea anchor. 

In preparation for the second and more dreaded 
297 


SEA PLUNDER 


eventuality, however, it was all hands to shorten 
and balance the topsails, brace the yards aback, take 
a reef in the fore-topmast staysail and bend a storm 
trysail on the spanker to swing the ship’s head more 
into the wind. 

Two men were put at the wheel on account of 
the uncertainty of the puffs and the call for a quick 
helm. And the rigging was set up and rattled down 
to bouse in that slack which had come, in the days 
of calm, with the drag of those tackles lifting whales’ 
heads and blankets. 

This done, the sweating men were turned to on 
deck to clear off the cluttering gear, batten down the 
hatches and make things generally weather-shape. 
The cooper’s brewery yard — staves and rusty 
hoops, grindstones, forge and anvil — was swept 
bodily into the fore-hatch. The copper cooling cis¬ 
tern was emptied of oil and dismantled. Cutting- 
spades, pitchforks, dippers, skimmers and boarding- 
knives were all cleaned and stowed below. 

Loose ropes were coiled and hung on belaying pins. 
The try-furnace was extinguished by hurling the 
burning scrap overside at the sharks, and the cover 
replaced on the square brickwork. The mincing 
machine with its wooden hopper was wrecked, put 
below in the blubber-room, and the main hatch bat¬ 
tened over all. 

Yardley was everywhere at once, forward and 
aft, while this was going on. 

“ Here, a coupla you!” he sang out. “ Frap some 
extra lashin’s about them lower jaws of bulls and 
cow. Hoh, I see they’re a’ready fastened to thet 
298 


SEA PLUNDER 


lash rail; but I don’t wanta take no chances of a 
sea cornin’ aboard and washin’ them overside! 

“You, Evans, Samson, Jorgy!” pointing at each 
man with a stubby finger, “ turn to squilgeein’ up 
the deck so that, in the cornin’ rain, the oil won’t be 
floatin’ about on the water, slippery under our pins 
and handicappin’ us in the quick handlin’ of the 
ship! ” 

Then, as the delegated men each took hold of a 
wooden stick clamped with rubber, he added: 

“ Naow, a couple more of you gather them ashes 
outa thet try-furnace! Mix it into a lye and start 
arter them squilgees to wash away the grease-spots 
left dingin’ to the deck!” 

He turned to Sherwood, kicking over toward him 
an ordinary broom which had been left against the 
bulwark. 

“ Lay aloft thar, Curly, and sweep off that soot 
from the main lower riggin’! When that rain does 
come,” he explained, “ we don’t want it drippin’ 
black on our clo’es and foulin’ our peeps! ” 

But he had no sooner finished speaking, it seemed, 
than the wind slapped them, wet with rain. It did 
not come this time, however, from the sou’ by west. 
It had veered and hauled into the sou’-sou’east, and 
it pelted them with warm nodules, big and heavy as 
bullets. 

In another breath it was a deluge, a leaden slant 
of water welding sea to sky, and there was no need 
of Sherwood’s broom! The rigging was running a 
charcoal slush down into the waterways and the 
wind, on the increase, was blowing stiff and steadily, 
299 


SEA PLUNDER 


and vibrating the top-hamper like some monstrous 
harp! 

“ Hard-a-weather! ” cried Yardley to the helms¬ 
men; and “ All hands!” yelled Carthew. 

The pair at the wheel wrestled arduously; the 
hurrying crew eased away on the lee and hauled in 
on the weather braces of the topsails to bring the 
ship to the wind on this new direction, and the old 
blubber-boat, heeling over, smothered her nose under 
a mountainous sea, from flying jib boom to knight- 
heads ! 

Before she could shoulder out of it, another head- 
sea and another followed, in a tremendous series 
of three, according to the eternal recurrence of 
things! They bludgeoned her stem-plates and coiled 
furiously over her bows in solid sheets of green 
water that were voluted at the top like scrolls of 
molded metal! 

No manger, scuppers or hawse-pipes could take 
care of such a sudden amount of water. The for¬ 
ward deck was awash, over the bitts, from bulwark 
to bulwark! And, brimming the rails, the green 
flood avalanched aft, foaming round the foremast 
up to its fife rail and leaping greedily over the fore 
hatch! 

Kroderen had been sitting all this while on the 
forward hatch, industriously sewing the dead mate 
into a long canvas bag, with a weight of brick and 
sand at his feet. The flood swept under him, now, 
and both quick and dead went careering toward the 
rail! Only his grip of a backstay saved the sail- 
maker. He had all he could do to hold himself 
300 


SEA PLUNDER 


there and, unable to lend a hand, he saw the mum¬ 
mified mate plunge past him over the rail and feet- 
first down into the sea! 

That was the last of poor Petrie. But Captain 
Yardley, when he heard, felt none too sure of this. 
He was naturally superstitious as a seaman, and he 
was accordingly fearful that the corpse might work 
free from the unfinished bag and float up to the 
surface. 

“ No wonder,” he said, shoving back his sou’¬ 
wester to wipe his damp brow, “ no wonder, Sails. 
It’s an old whalin’ custom to throw slops over a 
dead man’s shroud so he won’t feel in any trim to 
come back and ha’nt you! You’d better not say 
anythin’ to the men, Kroderen! Jest forgit this 
larst job as sailmaker, and turn to as actin’ fourth! 

“ Mr. Kroderen!” he emphatically lifted his voice, 
to evidence the rise he had accorded the man in 
rank. “ Take a detail of the crew out on the back- 
ropes to straighten the dolphin striker! In nosin’ 
them head seas, that time we weathered round, some 
of the stays parted under the strain and thet martin¬ 
gale’s all slued off, now, to loo’ard! ” 

Steadily the wind was shifting into the east and, 
even with those two men at the wheel and that bull- 
cachalot towing off her bow as a sea anchor, the 
Ballenas seemed unable to lie-to. Her head kept 
paying off more and more until, at last, she was 
rolling and groaning almost athwart those mountain¬ 
ous seas! 

It was a ticklish position, to say the least, and 
no sooner was the martingale boused to windward 
301 


SEA PLUNDER 


than Captain Yardley ordered more headsails clapped 
on. Even then, however, the old barky refused to 
swing. Sickeningly, she continued to slam and bang 
in that dangerous trough! 

“ IPs that current, Fll bet, streamin’ under these 
waves!” surmised Yardley, rightly or wrongly. “ It’s 
draggin’ her forefoot and pertic’lar that heavy bull 
off to loo’ard. Mr. Carthew!” he bellowed, “ knock 
out a shackle from thet fluke-chain! But afore you 
let that bull go,” he warned, “stick a harpoon in 
his belly, with the ship’s name burned in its shaft! 
When this squall puffs out, we’ll be hummin’ back 
this way and, if anybody finds that whopper floatin’ 
on the su’face, we don’t want no fight nor words 
claimin’ our own! 

“ Moseby!” he yelled at the second mate who, by 
this time, had thoroughly recovered from his dis¬ 
play of nerves, “ break out the courses! And lend- 
a-hand thar, Port! We don’t want to yank them 
sticks outa her by showin’ any more kites; but 
thet main and fores’l will jest about keep her ahead 
of these seas, as she runs for it! 

“ Say, Kroderen,” he turned to the acting fourth 
mate with sudden recollection, “ tow that lifeboat 
in our wake round to the cuttin’-stage! Can’t have 
her banged to pieces ag’in the ship’s rump by them 
followin’ seas! Bring that boat inboard and lash 
her fast atop them gallows!” 

As though caught in some evil deed, he swung 
about and found himself staring into the eyes of 
Harbottle. The steward was peering out from the 
companion, his white jacket getting soaked and 
302 


SEA PLUNDER 


clinging to his thin form like paper, his brown eyes 
agleam with protest. 

“ Hey you, Faunt!” called Yardley, to clinch the 
matter before the hapa haole could object, “ lend 
Mr. Kroderen and his men a hand with that life¬ 
boat! Stow all the gear you find in it back aboard 
my whaleboat where it belongs — water-breaker, 
biscuit-keg and sea chest! You handle the sea chest, 
Harbottle!” And he winked significantly at the 
steward from under the dripping brim of his sou’¬ 
wester. 

But Harbottle was in no mood to return that 
wink. He realized, at the orders, that all his fond 
hopes of deserting the ship in that lifeboat, with 
the ambergris, were suddenly gone glimmering! 


303 


CHAPTER XLVII 


That night, about the hour they had planned for 
the desertion, Sherwood and Sam found themselves 
busy on deck, instead. The squall had settled into 
an easterly gale by then, and was striking them 
hard; and it was all hands to clew up the courses, 
both fore and aft, and furl. 

Separating from Sam, Neil went up the main 
yard with Evans, Carlin and Jorgy to furl that 
sail. But as it was too heavy a task for four men, 
particularly in that wind and rain, with the sail 
wet and stiff, Kroderen, the acting fourth mate, fol¬ 
lowed to lend them a hand. 

They managed at last to get the sail up and were 
starting to pass the securing gasket. Carlin, being 
to the outside of Kroderen on the lee yardarm, the 
mate told him to sit down in the footrope and pass 
the gasket to him. 

“ But the ship’s rollin’ too hard, sir,” whimpered 
the fellow, “ and I’m skeered!” 

“ All right,” said Kroderen, bravely. “ Let me 
get out and you get in!” 

But it was all a ruse of the treacherous Carlin. As 
Kroderen was swinging past him, he half turned 
on the footrope and jabbed his fist under the mate’s 
chin! 

“ Take that for sellin’ me out to the afterguard, 
you squealin’ Scowegian!” he snarled. 

Kroderen made no outcry, but his teeth ground 
304 


SEA PLUNDER 


audibly together with the force of the uppercut, and 
he was lifted backward off the yard. He tried to 
catch at a brace, missed wide and, as the ship 
heeled over, went down like a plummet through the 
darkness into the tumulting sea! 

“ Man overboard! ” shouted Sherwood, at top 
voice, to make himself heard above the din of the 
storm. 

“ Shut up!” came from Carlin. “ Let him sink, 
the Scowegian toady!” And he made a grab for 
Sherwood. 

But Neil was too quick for him. He ducked, 
leaving his sou’wester in the fellow’s grasp, and went 
sliding down a rolling-rope, hollering: “ Man over¬ 
board ! Kroderen’s overboard! ” 

But he had no more than reached the deck, it 
seemed, than he was astonished to see, in a sudden 
flare of lightning, the mate crawling in over the lee 
rail, dripping brine like the Old Man of the Sea, 
and bleeding from a cut on the head! 

“That outrigger — the cuttin’-stage — saved me!” 
he gaspingly explained. But he staggered and 
hugged the bulwark as though to keep himself from 
falling. “ I landed on my shoulders and head, fair 
bustin’ it open. But I’ll get you for this, Carlin!” he 
whipped the blood from his eyes and feebly bran¬ 
dished one fist up at the main yard. “ I’ll mash 
you to a pulp when — when I’m myself — again!” 
And he slapped down in the scuppers, dead beat. 
Sherwood carried him below. 

Two mornings later, in a world of flying spume, 
they sped by Schjetnan Reef on their starboard 
305 


SEA PLUNDER 


board. But they never would have known it for a 
bit of terra firma. There was no coral in sight; 
only heavy, frothy breakers and their accompanying 
rumble. Day succeeded stormy day until Captain 
Yardley began to fear he would surely be driven 
upon some shoal or outlying reef of the scattered 
Marshalls. But on the sixth day, about the hour 
which normally would have been sunset had the 
sky not been overcast and the sun still obscured, 
the gale abated somewhat, though the waves con¬ 
tinued to march out of the east in mountainous 
formation. 

Nervous about his proximity to those lurking 
dangers of the Marshalls, Captain Yardley imme¬ 
diately decided to about-ship, in the face of those 
seas, and back-track in search of that bull they had 
cast adrift with the identifying harpoon in its belly. 
The wheel rope parted, first off, under the strain of 
wearing round and, swinging and banging, the un¬ 
controlled barky began paying off into the trough 
of the waves! But before a catastrophe could result, 
Carthew sprang with a relieving tackle to windward 
and thus held the helm up till the new rope could be 
rove. 

Sam and Sherwood turned in with their watch, at 
nine o’clock that night, in eager hope of the first 
spell of unbroken sleep they had been allowed in a 
week. During the stress of the storm, they had 
found neither time nor opportunity to discuss their 
frustrated plot with Harbottle and the girl. Night 
and day, they had been on duty at odd hours. But 
if they had been worked up to the full, Captain 
306 


SEA PLUNDER 


Yardley had himself fared little better. He had 
paced the quarter-deck, it seemed, ever since the gale 
began. 

Sherwood was accordingly angered when he found 
himself being rudely shaken out of a sound slumber. 
He opened his mouth to execrate his assailant, then 
his eyes. But at sight of a white jacket bending over 
him, he swallowed his words in a gasp. 

“ It’s the skipper!” Harbottle breathed, for his 
ears alone. “ He’s trying to break in on Miss 
O’Brine! I’ve run up the passage to warn you, 
Neil!” trying to catch his wind. “ It’s the first 
chance this week Yardley’s had to think of anything 
save his ship! But you’d better hurry, Neil! If 
you’d help Miss O’Brine in time, you’ll get hold of 
Sam and race after me, the two of you, through the 
passage!” 

Sherwood believed the steward, he appeared so 
genuinely agitated, and, in no time at all, Sam was 
awakened and informed, and the three were feeling 
their way aft through the darkness of the passage. 
The old Ballenas, bucking those head seas, was mak¬ 
ing heavy weather of it, and the deck of the passage 
was heaving up and hurling them off their feet from 
one wall slap against the other. 

Fortune favored them, however, in going through 
the dimly lighted steerage. The afterguard below 
were all turned in and snoring vociferously, evidently 
as worn out as any of the foremast hands by the long 
hours and strenuous work engendered by the gale. 

With a warning finger to his lean lips, Harbottle 
swung open the door into the companion. They 
307 


SEA PLUNDER 


peered then, from the dimness of the steerage, out 
into the brightness of the alleyway, for the alleyway 
was lighted by stray yellow beams from the gimbal- 
lamp swaying and dancing over the cabin table. 

Standing in the alleyway facing aft, his broad 
back to them and one ear pressed against the jamb 
of the door of his former stateroom, was Captain 
Ham Yardley! His left hand was vised about the 
knob and they could tell, from the muscles outstand¬ 
ing on the back of his red neck, that he was straining 
to turn that knob and break the catch, without 
making a sound which would disturb the slumber of 
the girl within! He had probably used his right 
hand in this manner until it was tired and weakened. 

Neil found himself glancing down at the skipper’s 
hip to make sure there was no bulge under his coat, 
which would mean he was armed. But Yardley 
had failed to retrieve his gun from the stateroom 
since that day when he had been about to do so 
and the discovery of the ambergris had interposed. 

“ He’s unheeled! ” whispered Sherwood, and his 
voice was pitched so low he could distinctly hear 
above it the measured tread of the mate on watch 
as he paced the boards over their heads. “ Now, 
Sam! ” And they both leaped out together. 

It was a surprise attack. Before Yardley knew 
what was up, the gigantic Marshall Islander had 
folded his brown arms about the skipper’s long 
ones, pinning them to his sides, and Sherwood had 
slipped one hand under his chin and was pulling 
against his windpipe, choking off all breath and 
sound, and yanking back his head! 

308 


SEA PLUNDER 


Neil got a glimpse thus of the corrugated, straining 
forehead, the beetling brows and ratty eyes below 
them, viciously furious now like those of a cornered 
animal. Then Harbottle came up with a rope he had 
fished out of one of the alleyway lockers; and they 
bound the squirming skipper hand and foot, tied a 
gag in his mouth and dragged him, a dead weight, 
along the passage into the cabin. 

“ Up on deck, men!” urged Harbottle in an exult¬ 
ing whisper. “ We’ve made the break, got Yardley, 
and now there’s no turning back! It’s not all the 
sorts of a night we could wish, but we’ve simply 
got to desert this ship here and now! Get hold of 
the mate on watch, Sam, and the man at the wheel! 

“ Or better,” he added, making toward the cabin 
doorway, “ I’ll step up the companion and tell the 
mate the skipper wants him. You two follow and 
be waiting at the foot of the ladder to grab him. 
Later we can rouse Miss O’Brine,” and he nodded 
toward the stateroom door as they passed by. 

Thus, as conceived by the wily hapa haole, was it 
carried out. Carthew, who happened to be on 
watch, hesitated to leave the deck even for a moment. 
But when Harbottle craftily hinted that he thought 
it some important matter concerning the division of 
the ambergris, the mate succumbed to his own greedy 
interest in the treasure and, entering the companion, 
began eagerly running down the ladder. 

He was half facing about in his haste, to leap off 
the second rung to the bottom, when Sam and Sher¬ 
wood stepped out of the darkness to either side, 
and caught and throttled him. Another length of 
309 


SEA PLUNDER 


line from the convenient locker, and Carthew was 
as securely tied and gagged as his master! 

They laid him out to one side of the alleyway. 

“Now for the man at the wheel!” whispered 
Sherwood, starting up the ladder. “ You, Harbottle, 
rouse Miss O’Brine and tell her to get ready pronto! 
Come on, Sam-why, what’s this, Carlin! ” 

In lifting his head out of the hatch, Sherwood had 
bumped it smack into the face of Carlin, who had 
left the wheel to peer down the companionway. 

“ Nothin’, Curly,” smirked the fellow. “ Only I 
thought I’d git an earful about that ambergrease 
when the mate was called. I see now what’s up, 
though,” retreating before Sherwood, as he stepped 
out. “ But there ain’t no need you squeezin’ my 
gullet like you did Carthew’s!” pleadingly. “I’m 
leery of Kroderen, I am. The damned Scowegian 
swore he’d beat me up once he got around on his 
pins, and I’d like to git off’n this ship afore that 
happens. I’m willin’ to say nothin’, Curly, and 
I’ll help you out all I kin, if only you’ll let me go 
along with you!” 

But Sherwood, for answer, nodded meaningly to 
Sam behind him, and the two tackled the whining 
creature like football players, slapping him full 
length upon the wet deck. He attempted resist¬ 
ance then, but it was too late. The giant Kanaka 
held him like a squirming babe, one knee on his 
flattened chest, while Sherwood, darting toward a 
handy belaying pin and securing a coil of rope, laced 
his kicking legs together, bound his wrists and 
clapped a gag over his mouth. 

310 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ I saw you slip that blow over on Kroderen, 
remember,” he said, grimly, as he rolled the triced 
fellow with his foot against the wheel box. “ And 
I don’t want any sneaks along with us! Are you 
finished lashing that helm, big boy?” to Sam, who 
was taking a turn about the master spoke of the 
wheel. 

The Islander nodded, and the two then stepped 
across the heaving deck toward the nearest whale¬ 
boat, creaking in its crane on the lee side. It 
happened to be the skipper’s boat, containing the 
chest of ambergris. Not knowing this, and probably 
little caring if they had, they started to make ready 
the falls for the momentous lowering! 


311 


CHAPTER XLVIII 


It was a testimony to the quietude with which 
most of this business had been dispatched that Miss 
O’Brine had not yet opened her door to inquire what 
the trouble was and thus show she had been awak¬ 
ened by an unusual noise. Instead of obeying Neil’s 
injunction, therefore, and knocking at the state¬ 
room door to arouse her, Harbottle, once he was 
left alone, rather took advantage of her non-appear¬ 
ance to put through a hasty little scheme of his own! 

He tiptoed past and back into the cabin, and 
there, with Yardley’s vicious eyes upon him, shoved 
the koa table quietly to one side. But the move¬ 
ment, though delicate, caused a roll of charts and a 
pair of steel dividers the skipper had been previously 
using to drop clattering upon the deck. He paused, 
startled at hearing them fall, and flashed a fearful 
glance toward the stateroom door. 

But no girl appeared on the threshold to ask, 
sleepily, for an explanation, and thereby upset his 
plans. So, after a guilty moment, he bent down and 
lifted the circular hatch out of the deck. Then he 
slipped through and down into the ship’s run, and 
next could be heard yanking at the sacks of coffee, 
sugar and flour still heaped on top of the remaining 
chest of ambergris! 

His actions were a sudden illumination to Yardley. 
Bound and gagged though the skipper was, unable to 
move hand or foot or jaw, he still could see with his 
312 


SEA PLUNDER 


ratty eyes, and use his wits. And he realized, all at 
once, why it was Harbottle had insisted he should 
transfer the chests of ambergris into that lifeboat 
when it was towing astern. The wily hapa haole 
had intended to escape with the treasure in that 
lifeboat, and now that he was bent on deserting in 
another boat, as Yardley had overheard him whis¬ 
per to the others, he would not leave without this 
second box! 

Soundlessly Yardley rolled over upon the deck 
until he brought up against the legs of the table 
alongside the hatch. There, with his lashed feet, 
he began insistently shoving against the wooden 
cover, slipping it slowly and quietly back over the 
aperture. 

It moved by bare inches on account of the diffi¬ 
culty of getting a leverage on its circular edge. But 
he had managed to force it partly across the hole 
when Harbottle, probably noticing the dimming of 
the light from the cabin lamp, came crawling up. 

As soon as he put head above the deck, the 
steward saw who was moving that lid and what 
the skipper was about. Yardley meant to imprison 
him below! But Harbottle did not explode against 
the captain in words; he feared to awaken the girl, 
and that fear gagged him as effectively as did the 
cloth stopper in Yardley’s mouth. 

He compressed his lips into a thin, determined 
line and opposed, in grim silence, the skipper’s 
pressure against the lid. At the same time, he 
worked himself more and more upward out of the 
partly closed hole. 


313 


SEA PLUNDER 


His torso was well out when Yardley, in despera¬ 
tion, gave a final kick at the cover. It moved inches 
this time, despite all Harbottle’s resistance, and 
caught him in the soft part of the stomach beneath 
the ribs, pinning him there between its prodding edge 
and the opposite coaming of the hatch! 

“Ouch!” was forced from him. Then once more 
his lips set and the two men strained against each 
other like mutes, fighting in uncanny silence. 

It was weird. Harbottle squirmed and tried to 
shove back that impinging lid. Yardley held the 
cover with his stiffened legs and laughed at him with 
twinkling eyes, and yet, for all the sound they made, 
they still could hear the thud of the seas breaking 
against the weather side of the counter! 

Finally Yardley rolled over, once. It brought him 
nearer Harbottle, but that was not his reason. The 
full weight of his body now rested upon one end of 
the cover! Harbottle, already impaled, could not 
hope to bulge that weighted lid and release himself! 
He was as securely imprisoned as though in some 
ancient form of torture machine! 

Like some crippled, mute demon was Yardley 
then, smiling at his victim with inflamed eyes though 
he could make no sound other than muffled grunts! 
All at once, he lifted his triced legs like the flukes 
of a whale and swung them, in a sidesweep, at the 
steward’s head! 

But Harbottle ducked, leaning far over, the edge 
of the lid pressing into his navel and his hands slid¬ 
ing out on the deck. He felt something chill and 
metallic beneath one hand — the steel dividers! His 
314 


SEA PLUNDER 


hand clenched spasmodically about them and, with 
a click, they snapped together into one sharp steel 
point. He lifted up then and, with all the force of 
his arm, drove that point into Yardley’s neck, lying 
exposed close beside him on the deck! 

Blood spurted beneath his hand ere he could 
withdraw it from the joining-rivet of the dividers! 
A muffled groan was wrenched from Yardley. He 
twisted his head and flounced about like a landed 
fish, and his hideous scar and whole moon of face 
went red and puffed out, as he strove for breath 
through that stifling gag! 

The bouncing hatch-cover scraped its edge pain¬ 
fully against the steward’s stomach, as the captain 
labored on the other end. Harbottle could see the 
steel dividers still vibrating in Yardley’s neck and 
he could further tell, from the quick, copious pulsing 
of blood, that the jugular had been punctured, an 
arterial and fatal wound! 

He became horror-stricken and began yanking 
frenziedly at the binding lid. He felt, on the sudden, 
as if he were losing his mind! 

But Yardley had relaxed upon the cover. An 
odd muffled gurgling stole from his loosened mouth 
beneath the gag; he shuddered convulsively from 
head to foot, then went limp and flaccid. He was 
dead, though his tiny eyes still remained open, fixed 
weirdly upon the terror-filled steward! 

Harbottle did not know what to do, then. He 
wanted, dearly wanted, to get away, but that dead 
weight on the lid was too heavy to bulge! He could 
see no means of release save only to await the 
315 


SEA PLUNDER 


return of Sherwood and Sam, and then his covetous 
scheme would be exposed and thwarted! It was 
grisly fate! He was bound to Yardley more effec¬ 
tually in death than ever he had been when the 
skipper was alive! 

The slither of a bolt being drawn, the slight 
creaking- of an opening door caused him to swivel 
his head and look toward the stateroom. Clare 
O’Brine stood on the threshold, fully dressed, though 
with evidences of haste that were especially notice¬ 
able in the disarray of her piled-up, blond hair! 

Perhaps the football tactics of Sam and Sherwood 
had awakened her, with the flopping of Carlin upon 
the wet boards above. More likely it was the sounds 
of struggle from the cabin, particularly those death 
throes of the captain. For now she gave one horri¬ 
fied look at that limp form beside the imprisoned 
steward, then turned and fled in wordless panic up 
the companion! 

Harbottle struggled desperately. He realized the 
distracted girl would inform Sherwood and Sam and 
that, in a moment, they would come tumbling down. 
And he wanted to release himself, to get that second 
chest of ambergris, before they should appear to 
spoil it all! 

As luck would have it, he was suddenly aided in 
his struggles by a violent lurch of the old barky in 
those heavy seas. The body rolled off the hatch 
and slapped against the legs of the koa table! 

He shoved back the cover from beneath his ribs 
and dropped into the run. It was easier than 
attempting to crawl out. Merely his spent body 
316 


SEA PLUNDER 


slumped like a sack of sand down through the hole 
and he lay on the dark, sloping deck, gathering 
breath and strength. 

But he thought he heard footsteps drumming down 
the ladder. He leaped afoot and worked madly, 
dragging forth the chest at last, shouldering it and 
shoving it gratingly up upon the coaming of the 
hatch. 

He was chinning himself out after it when he saw 
Sam and Sherwood standing in the cabin doorway, 
gazing almost stupidly down at his victim. They 
appeared, indeed, so struck with horror, they could 
not move nor speak! 


317 


CHAPTER XLIX 


Harbottle found himself acting peculiarly; it was 
evident even to himself. He got to his feet and 
bothered to dust off his trouser-knees, while he took 
advantage of his stooping attitude to look up at them 
under bent brows. Then he lifted the ironbound 
chest before him in his arms and, with a sudden 
show of hostility, began marching toward them. 

His mind was working queerly. That hostility, 
for instance, came from fully expecting them to stop 
him with the obstruction of their bodies or else 
some command; that was why, as a buffer, he held 
the box before him! But what was his pleasant 
surprise when they huddled back to either hand of 
the doorway! He did not notice it in his own self¬ 
engrossment, but they made room for him to pass 
as though he carried some unclean thing! 

As he climbed the ladder, he placed the chest on 
one step above him after another. Across the wet, 
gleaming deck on the lee side, as he stumbled out 
of the companion way, he could make out the after¬ 
most whaleboat, the skipper’s boat, lowered even 
with the bulwark. He could further distinguish 
the dim white of the girl’s dress upon a thwart 
amidship and, sure then of his destination, he was 
swaying toward it, with his burden, when he felt 
himself grabbed from behind. He jumped in spite of 
himself. 


318 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Good God, man! ” came the stricken voice of 
Sherwood. “You’ve killed Yardley!” 

“ Ssh!” he whispered, and he could not help it; 
he realized, as he turned his head, that it was a 
childish action. But he must glance behind to see 
that no long-armed wraith was following them out 
of that dark companion! He breathed easier, once 
he was sure, and spoke close to Sherwood’s ear. 

“ He tried to hold me below in the ship’s run, 
Yardley did,” he whispered, confidentially. “ He 
was pinning me between that hatch and its cover, 
but — I fooled him!” And it sounded strange, even 
to himself, the way he chuckled! “ I stabbed him 
with that steel compass!” he ended, more soberly. 

Sherwood stepped in front of him to peer into his 
face in the darkness. But to Harbottle, there could 
be only one reason for that manoeuver. Sherwood 
wanted that precious box! 

“ You can’t have it!” his voice lifted shrilly. “ I 
killed Yardley for it and I’ll do the same to you 
if-” 

“ Oh, that’s all right, Weymore,” said Neil, sooth¬ 
ingly. “ There’s no need to yell. Don’t get excited, 
old man. But what is it?” tapping the ironwork 
on the chest. 

“ Ambergris! ” and he smiled pridefully, his mood 
entirely changed. “ There’s another box of it in 
that boat with Miss O’Brine, the skipper’s own 
whaleboat! But ssh!” looking fearfully toward 
where that speck of dim white distinguished the girl 
from the darkness. “ Don’t say anything to her, 
not a word; only get out of my way! ” And nodding 
319 



SEA PLUNDER 


Sherwood imperiously aside, he started, on tiptoe, 
across the slippery, heaving deck! 

Sherwood, left behind, turned to Sam who had just 
come up out of the companion. He tapped his brow 
significantly. 

“ That killing proved too much for Harbottle,” 
he announced in a low voice. “ He’s gone daft!” 

“ Crazy, you mean? But can’t we leave him 
behind?” 

Sherwood shook his head dismally. 

“No, Sam; we can’t desert him like that, espe¬ 
cially now in his affliction. All we can do is take 
him along, and keep our eyes open, and hope for 
the best!” 

“ Why, she’s fainted! ” came the gleeful voice of 
the steward, as he looked in over the gunwale of 
the partly lowered boat. He spoke loudly, as if he 
were alone on the ship, with nothing to fear from 
the watch on deck up forward! 

“Lower your voice, Harbottle!” insisted Sher¬ 
wood, slipping quickly up beside him. Then, in 
fear lest he might have ruffled the man’s morbidly 
acute sensibilities, he added, “ But that’s all the 
better she’s fainted, don’t you think, Weymore?” 

The crazed hapa haole nodded, and laid the box 
in his arms down beside the other chest in the 
stern sheets. He followed after it, leaping in over 
bulwark and gunwale. Then, standing on the chests, 
he turned to the two still on deck and commanded, 
with quiet but none the less strange authority: 

“Now lower away, men!” He was for all the 
world like some Napoleon ordering a retreat! 

320 


SEA PLUNDER 


il We’ll clear out of here and head for those near-by 
Marshalls and Sam’s atoll of home! What’s that 
you called it, Sam? Oh, Maloelab Atoll, eh?” 
And again he chuckled as at some good joke. 

They eased away on one creaking fall and then 
the other, until the boat was rocking on an even 
keel in the leeward swells. Then they slid down the 
ropes, cast off the attaching hooks and breasted 
themselves out, with the oars, from that narrowing 
aft of the old barky’s flank. 

The Ballenas loomed blackly up above them then, 
save where the yellow beams from the cabin lamp 
splayed through those square transom ports in the 
stern. They wanted to put quick distance between 
themselves and that tragic reminder of light, so Sam 
shipped the long steering sweep in the crutch over 
the stern and Sherwood placed Harbottle at a mid¬ 
ship oar, while he himself set the stroke. 

Presently, aided by that easterly wind and the 
marching seas, they were far apart. Those yellow 
squares of light blinked and dimmed into the per¬ 
vading darkness, and they were no longer haunted 
by remembrance of that dead captain stretched under 
the dancing rays of that gimbal-lamp. They lifted 
the spritsail then, dropping the peak against too 
much breeze. With Sam swaying over the long, 
twenty-foot steering oar, they sailed up and down the 
watery acclivities into the dark west! 


321 


CHAPTER L 


It was noon, four days later, and a calm had fallen. 
Beneath the vault of brass was not a flutter of wind. 
The ocean heaved like restless quicksilver; the air 
shimmered with heat and the sun’s rays stabbed 
like individual knives. Aboard the tiny speck of 
whaleboat, the one woman and two of the men 
hugged the narrow margin of shadow from the 
stirless spritsail and futilely searched the wavering 
rim for sign of land. The third man sat on the 
blistering ironwork of those chests in the stern and 
babbled endlessly, like a phonograph. 

“Lord!” exclaimed Sherwood, gazing aft toward 
that crazy guardsman, “ if only he’d brought food 
from the ship’s run instead of those no-good chests! ” 
The night prior they had run out of drinking 
water and, for breakfast that morning, they had 
swallowed their last flinty crumb of hard-tack. 
Where they were then, they did not know. But 
they had easily expected, long before this, to overhaul 
one of the Marshalls — perhaps, with luck, that 
atoll of home to Sam where there were sixty-four 
isles within the one reef! 

For several evenings hand running, they had 
lighted the boat’s lantern and slung it aloft at the 
top of the mast, so sure were they of attracting 
attention from some near-by but indistinguishable 
islet, or else some passing outrigger canoe. But the 
wick had flickered out for lack of whale-oil and, 
322 


SEA PLUNDER 


in raging resentment, they had cast the useless con¬ 
traption overside! They had only succeeded in 
being fooled by the countless vigias of the tropical 
sea. 

For instance, in the daytime far off, they had seen 
what looked like surf breaking over coral. They had 
rowed for it in the swelter, willing to bear thirst and 
sweat and hunger, and still grin in the fond expec¬ 
tancy of a speedy landfall. Imagine their chagrin, 
then, when they found only a school of porpoise 
splashing and spouting the water and gamboling in 
droves like fat porkers on a frolic! 

They had been tricked by the heat-dance in the 
air. But they tried to make the best of their dis¬ 
appointment by attempting to harpoon the fish for 
food. There were three “ irons ” and as many lances 
fitted in the bows of the boat. But the frolicsome 
sea pigs proved too wary and agile for their weary 
bungling, and they were successful only in losing all 
but one of their weapons! 

Next, low green islands had lured them on, spurred 
their flagging efforts. As they crept nearer, however, 
the isles had seemed to disperse into immense areas 
of discolored water, green as though evidencing 
shoals, and when at last they finally overhauled the 
patches, it was only to find themselves entangled in 
dense green floating fields of sea sawdust or 
confervce! 

Then again, in the offing, they had spied white 
chalk reefs. They were positive this time and, 
accordingly, bent every ounce of their ebbing 
strength to draw close. But once more were they 
323 


SEA PLUNDER 


fooled by the sun-dazzle! It was only the thick 
white scum from the sea worm, or balolo, as Sam 
called it! 

When the calm had first fallen, the third evening, 
they had thought little of it, judging it would quickly 
pass with the shifting of the wind from a new quar¬ 
ter. But they had not been content to sit idly 
by and wait. The outlying Ratak Chain of the 
Marshalls was not far off, they felt sure. And they 
had drained their last bit of water to strengthen 
their arms and, in ambitious hope, started to row. 

The Pacific, that night, was flat and black and 
viscid as mud. But when Sam and Sherwood dipped 
their oars, they disturbed phosphorescent gleams, 
and the drip off their paddle-blades looked like round 
silver dollars! 

The black sheet beneath them heaved and rippled 
noisily, and became streaked, all at once, with a 
ribbon of greenish glare like moldy silver. Another 
and another zigzagged through the water in quick 
succession, broad bands of mercury light, until the 
whole reach of ocean about the whaleboat seemed to 
glow like an inferno and give off wisps of blue smoke! 

“ They’re after me!” cried Harbottle, huddling 
down upon the boxes in the stern and covering his 
eyes. “ IPs Yardley, Ham Yardley! He’s waving 
his arms like an octopus!” 

“ Oh!” gasped the girl, lifted to her feet by horror. 
But Sherwood pulled her gently down beside him 
on the thwart and explained: 

“ It’s only the sharks, Clare! The human scent 
of us has attracted them. Am I not right, Sam?” 

324 


SEA PLUNDER 


The huge Polynesian turned about from the stroke 
oar to nod back at them. 

“ That’s the troof,” he grinned, “ and we’d better 
get used to ’em. ’Cause they’re gonna be our nightly 
and daily escort from now on to the end of the 
cruise!” 

“ Unless,” qualified Neil to encourage the trem¬ 
bling girl, “ unless, Sam, a storm blows up to scatter 
them.” 

“ Aye, and slap us with a new danger!” remarked 
the Islander dryly. But he was about to add some¬ 
thing more hopeful when Harbottle again lifted his 
voice from the stern sheets. 

“ Oh, don’t let them get me!” he called piteously, 
wretchedly. “ Please, please keep those arms away! ” 
And he began fighting what must have been some 
imaginary devilfish, there in the dark. 

“ Easy now!” soothed the big, good-natured Sam, 
leaning far over and gripping his knees to lend him 
courage in his distress. “ You’re all right, old man. 
Nothing will harm you while Sam’s here! Just keep 
still.” 

Abrupt as a child, the hapa haole quieted, burying 
his face, in his arms and gulping spasmodically. The 
boat ceased rocking. But they were too upset by 
then to think of further rowing, so the oars were 
boated. They continued to watch those ribbons of 
smoky glare weave tirelessly back and forth until 
their brains were bewildered and their eyes tired 
and blinded. Then, of sheer exhaustion, came sleep. 

But here, at high noon, Sam’s prediction of a 
constant escort was being fulfilled; the man-eaters 
325 


SEA PLUNDER 


still persisted in hovering about the becalmed boat. 
They splashed the water like flying fish or leaping 
salmon, or else cut the plastic surface with wedge- 
shaped, widening streaks from their sharp dorsal 
fins. Now a grating as of sandpaper along the 
keel vibrated the whole framework of the boat and 
set their teeth on edge. Or again it was a smart 
rap, like that of a human hand, against their bottom 
boards! But it all served to show them how thin 
was the measure of their safety! 

“ One upward rush,” commented Sherwood grimly, 
“ and the frail shell of this boat will be pierced, and 
we, ourselves, will furnish food for the hungry 
monsters! Oh, let’s do something, Sam! We’ve just 
got to do something! 

“ Say, I’ve got it! ” he went instantly on to exclaim. 
“ Let’s stick a chunk of the ambergris up on the 
blade of that steering sweep, and light it as a beacon! 
Don’t you get it? Lifted the twenty-foot length of 
that oar over the boat, it’ll tower above the mast¬ 
head, even higher than that lantern was, and there¬ 
fore be seen much farther off than is visible to us 
below here!” 

“ But will it burn?” asked Clare; and Sam added: 
“That’s just what I was thinking, missy!” 

“Why, of course!” said Neil with surety, not a 
bit taken aback. “ Any fat will burn, or at least 
sizzle, and ambergris is only fat, a perfumed and 
highly inflammable fat! And the smoke and flame 
may attract notice to us! It’s doing something, 
anyway, and that’s better than merely carting the 
stuff along. It’s valueless to us as it stands! ” 

326 


SEA PLUNDER 


He was making aft, leaping from thwart to thwart 
as he spoke, filled with his notion and little expecting 
any opposition from Harbottle. The truth was he 
thought the hapa haole thoroughly weakened by now 
from lack of food and water, and mentally impotent, 
besides, with that obsession haunting and gnawing 
his brain. 

But Harbottle must have overheard, for all his 
dementia, and insanely resolved to defend this 
treasure for which he had already committed 
so much. He leaped up at Sherwood with a 
maniacal fury and Neil tried arduously to beat him 
off. But, shocked by his display of ferocity and 
strength, and none too fit himself at the time, Neil 
was quickly borne over and backward, striking the 
knob of his head with a dull thud against a thwart! 

What Harbottle might have done, then, Sherwood 
could only conjecture, for, just ere he lost conscious¬ 
ness, he saw Sam leap in and grapple with the 
madman. He saw Harbottle clutch the giant Mar¬ 
shall Islander by the throat . . . and then he knew 
no more. 

“Neil! Neil!” drifted to him from a vast dis¬ 
tance. It came nearer, nearer; and he opened his 
eyes. 

He looked up into the tear-stained face and misty 
hazel eyes of Clare O’Brine. His head was lying in 
her lap, and, as she wept and called, she was bathing 
his temples with lukewarm sea water. But as he 
evidenced his return to consciousness by opening 
his eyes, she ceased uttering his name, and only 
convulsive sobs shook through her. 

327 


SEA PLUNDER 


He lay still, for a spell, gathering his wits. He 
caught the lap of the quicksilver sea against the 
boat, the splash of a shark like that of a salmon 
or flying fish. Everything seemed quiet, too quiet, 
unnaturally quiet! He lifted up sharply. 

“ Where’s Sam?” he shouted, and he raked the 
boat, wild-eyed, fore and aft. Then, as fear chilled 
his heart, he clutched the blistering rail and glared 
toward those ironbound chests in the stern. Their 
guardsman was gone! “ Where — where’s Har- 
bottle?” he gulped. 

She said no word, but pointed down over the gun¬ 
wale. He saw a dorsal fin and its frothy wake. 

“ No!” he refused to believe. “It can’t be! You 
— you don’t mean it!” 

But she nodded and tears once again flooded her 
eyes. 

“ We’re all alone, Neil, all alone save for the 
sharks,” she said, in catching voice. “ They got 
poor Sam and Harbottle. The steward fought with 
all the fury of the insane and, no matter how Sam 
struggled, big and powerful though he was, he 
couldn’t break that death grip on his throat! 

“ I was yanking loose this last lance from the bow 
to pass it to Sam,” and she indicated a spear on the 
thwart beside her, “ when the boat almost capsized 
and, turning round, I beheld Sam and Harbottle top¬ 
pling overboard together. Harbottle was still clutch¬ 
ing poor Sam by the throat and, as they sank, I saw 
the big fellow’s brown arms fluttering feebly in the 
water like tendrils! There was a rush from the 
sharks, turning up their white undersides as they 
328 


SEA PLUNDER 


spread their jaws, and then I just couldn’t bear to 
look any more! ” 

“ You poor little girl!” was wrenched from Sher¬ 
wood and he held her compassionately in his arms. 
Then, out of memory, he repeated: “ ‘ And she saw 
us in a boat together, my mother ... a small boat 
. . . and there were others there . . . one who 
seemed to be a woman. But my mother could only 
see distinctly my chum and this third man. She 
told me, my mother, that I would die for my white 
brother at the hands of this tall, darkish man. But 
not alone. . . . Mo! Ap! . . . Not alone!’ 

“ That,” he explained to the nonplused girl, “ is 
the prophecy made to Sam by his gifted mother 
when he was but a boy. And Harbottle guessed it 
right! He was the man!” 


329 


CHAPTER LI 


What happened next seemed more the vague 
imaginings of a dream to Sherwood than any actu¬ 
ality. He remembered telling Clare O’Brine about 
the prophecy made by Sam’s mother. Then, stirred 
by the pathos of it all, he recalled whispering some¬ 
thing in her tiny ear that was close and sacred to 
his own heart! 

He must have slumped into a comatose state after 
that, sitting there on the thwart with Clare sleeping 
beside him, her blond head resting on his shoulder. 
He had stood more than his share of hardship 
through these trying days, and the death of Sam 
proved the final straw to his last feeble thread of 
strength. 

How long later it was when he came to, whether 
it was the same day or the next, he did not know, but 
the conflagration of sunset turning the western brassy 
sky to burnished copper, made him think it must be 
the same day. But how they had come to raise 
the land was beyond all his weakened faculties to 
explain. He could only tell that those were the 
green fronds of palms, waving and gleaming above 
the red-glowing rim of ocean! 

He felt a cool breeze fanning through his body 
like a tonic. It might have been blowing for minutes 
or hours for all he could say. He only knew that 
the spritsail was bellying out, the boat heeling over 
330 


SEA PLUNDER 


under it, and a pleasant gurgling was coming up from 
her forefoot! 

Leaving Clare still asleep upon the thwart amid¬ 
ships, her head reposing against the sheer strake 
under the gunwale, he managed to set the spritsail 
to take full advantage of that cool velvety breeze. 
Then, standing on the chests in the stern sheets, he 
grabbed hold of the handle of the steering sweep, 
lashed by lanyards to the crutch and trailing its long 
length astern. He was so wobbly from starvation 
and thirst, he felt grateful for its propping aid and, 
more by leaning upon it than anything else, was 
enabled to keep the boat winging straight for those 
feathery trees. 

The islands, five in number, low and thinly covered 
with palms, began to take on individuality and stand 
out above the ruddied sea, and barrier and fringing 
reefs. Soon he could make out the yellow and 
white of shingle beach and surf in the foreground. 
He caught a chug-chugging amid the rumble of 
breakers and beheld a launch, with glittering brass- 
work and white awning, heading out the passage 
toward them. 

A man in white uniform, with brass buttons and 
gold-braided cap, stood on the tiny deck forward 
of the awning. He was a short, squat man, brown 
of skin and slanty-eyed — a Japanese and, from his 
uniform, a ship’s officer. 

But he was more than that. A lean, long, colorful 
pennant whipped and snapped from the bowsprit 
cap before him: the official Jack of Japan! He was 
a naval officer, and there were two barefooted men 
331 


SEA PLUNDER 


on the sandy-white afterdeck in the garb universal 
with bluejackets the world over. The whaleboat 
was approaching some stronghold of the new rulers 
of these former German islands! 

Sherwood caught the glint of a gold-tasseled sword, 
as the naval officer lifted it in his hands. He seemed 
to be waving it at them, waving it in a manner to 
indicate that they should not head into the passage, 
but tack off and out to sea! The fellow must be a 
fool! 

“Water!” hollered Sherwood, through cupped 
hands. “We want water! And food! We must 
head in! We’re all to pieces!” 

“ Iya!” came back from the officer above the 
monotone of the surf. “ No, you Ingiris! ” as the 
Japanese say English. “ This Taongi Atoll, Nippon 
islands! Mighty big fort building this place. No 
tanin (outsider) allow! Come here, you be hotoke 
(dead person)! No can do!” 

Sherwood comprehended sufficiently to realize the 
enormity of the situation facing him. 

“ But I’ll give you pay for your food and water!” 
he promised. “ Good God, man, you can’t turn us 
away like this! Why, we’re all in, on our last legs, 
and the nearest bunch of islands are over a hundred 
miles away! I know! If this is Tanongi, as you say, 
then we’re at the tiptop of the Marshalls and far 
from Bikar, the next atoll! But here; smell of this 
and then let’s see what you say!” and he flung open 
one of the lids on the chests at his feet. 

The sweet, earthy aroma of the exposed amber¬ 
gris pervaded the sunset air and was then blown 
332 


SEA PLUNDER 


to leeward by the light breeze. The Japanese officer 
caught the scent. He flung back his head and 
whiffed with flat nostrils. 

“ Kusai (stink)!” he exclaimed and turned, agi¬ 
tatedly, to the engineer beneath the awning abaft 
him. In lower tones, he gave a command and the 
launch chugged close to the whaleboat. 

He hurled a regulation khaki-covered army can¬ 
teen over upon that open chest in the stern sheets. 
Neil leaped frenziedly for it. Then, as he unswiveled 
the cap with fingers that seemed all thumbs, he 
remembered the girl and lurched forward toward her. 

She still appeared to be sleeping, but it was more 
a lethargy than normal slumber. He put the 
canteen to her dry lips and allowed a few drops to 
trickle into her mouth. Her throat vibrated like 
a bird’s. She gulped, choked, then, as she opened 
her eyes, a jar shook through the whaleboat from the 
launch suddenly bumping alongside, and some of the 
liquid was spilled upon her neck. 

But those precious drops were not wasted. Rather, 
their chilliness helped to arouse her. She drank a 
little and, at Sherwood’s feverish insistence, sipped 
a bit more. Then, with a gratified sigh, she pressed 
the vessel back upon him, and he lifted it up, threw 
back his head and swallowed with an ecstatic leap¬ 
ing of his throat-apple! The canteen was emptied 
ere he had had enough. 

But when at last he lowered it from his caked 
lips and swung about to return it to the officer, he 
was alarmed to see what had previously escaped 
him in his eagerness to quench his inordinate thirst. 

333 


SEA PLUNDER 


Obeying the staccato commands of the officer, the 
two bluejackets were then engaged in removing the 
chests of ambergris from out the stern sheets into 
the cockpit of their own launch! One of the iron- 
bound boxes had thus already disappeared beneath 
the awning, and the second was on its way! 

“ Here! ” shouted Neil, picking up that lance from 
the midship thwart and making aft on legs that still 
wobbled but were quickly regaining steadiness. 
“ What’s the tall idea? I said I’d pay you,” address¬ 
ing the slant-eyed officer, “ but not with every ounce 
of that ambergris! Your services come a bit high, 
don’t you think?” 

But his sarcasm appeared lost on the Japanese. 
The fellow gazed at him, and especially at the lance 
in his hands, out of a brown face wrinkled into a 
mask of simian cunning. He noisily sucked saliva 
through his teeth to show politeness and regret. 

“ Look!” he ejaculated, as though surprised him¬ 
self, and he pointed with his sword at something 
beyond Sherwood, out to sea. 

Neil swiveled about. He got a glimpse of a trim, 
white steam schooner heading toward them over the 
horizon, her gaff topsails set on both masts to catch 
the light breeze and black smoke belching from her 
midship funnels and fouling her mainsail, as if she 
were wasting oil in the urgency of her haste! 

“ Bakal Kuso!” crackled out two Japanese words 
from behind him. “Fool! Dung!” And, before 
he could wonder who was meant, something blunt 
and heavy hit him over the top of his already bat¬ 
tered head. 


334 


SEA PLUNDER 


He thought of the officer’s sword as he heard Clare 
cry, “ Oh, you brute! You beast!” Then all went 
black before his eyes, a great humming set up in 
his ears, and he was sinking — sinking through the 
bottom of the boat and, as it seemed, down into the 
depths of the sea! 


335 


CHAPTER LII 


When he next came to, he found himself lying, 
fully dressed, on a bunk in a white-enameled state¬ 
room. He knew it was a stateroom because the 
reflection of water danced on the white ceiling and 
what he could see of the doorway was flooded with 
sunset glow. But what obstructed his view of the 
doorway were the people standing within it and 
about his berth. He felt surprisingly relieved at 
seeing Clare O’Brine sitting beside his head, though 
why his head should be bandaged eluded him for the 
moment. 

Then he recalled the Japanese encounter, but was 
given no time to consider it as his eyes, growing 
accustomed to the wavering reflections, began to dis¬ 
tinguish the different faces about him. They were 
a lot of strangers, it seemed, all but Clare. Standing 
beside her was a man who might be the skipper of 
the ship or a college professor, to judge from his 
white hands, pince-nez spectacles and iron-gray 
beard. Beyond him was another stranger, a short, 
chunky, blond fellow, who appeared to be grinning 
at him out of a boyish face. 

The next man, however, he recognized and, with 
the recognition, sat excitedly up in the bunk. 

“ Evans!” he cried. “ You little Welsh terrier, 
what on earth are you doing here? But, good Lord, 
Clare!” and he looked in sharp dread at her. “ We’re 
336 


SEA PLUNDER 


not back aboard the old Ballenas, are we? — after 
all we’ve gone through to get away!” 

She shook her blond head hastily. 

“ No, no, Neil! ” soothingly. “ This is the power- 
schooner Iliokai, owned by Mrs. Haviland of Hono¬ 
lulu. But ah, here she is!” as a youngish, though 
matronly looking woman entered the doorway. 

She was swarthy complexioned, and her liquid 
brown eyes showed signs of recent weeping. 

“ Armida Harbottle!” exclaimed Neil, but swiftly 
he lowered his voice, as her expressive eyes reminded 
him of her bereavement. “ Then you have heard?” 
he asked. 

She nodded, her generous lips quivering. 

“ But I’m no longer Miss Harbottle,” she said, 
quietly, as if seeking to change the subject. “ This 
is my husband, in whom you once showed such 
interest — Bayard Haviland!” And she indicated, 
with a faint but tender smile, the chunky, boyish 
fellow. 

“ Bah Jove, I’m glad to meet another victim of 
Kinuokalani Pederneira,” said he in fluting voice as, 
grinning again, he gripped hands with Sherwood. 
“ And by the bye, old topper, this boat doesn’t 
belong to my wife, you know. It’s under charter 
from Pederneira!” 

Neil judged, from the man’s manner, he was sup¬ 
posed to know this Pederneira, though for the life 
of him he couldn’t place the name. 

“Who’s he — Pederneira?” he queried. 

It was just what Haviland had been building 
toward, a little English joke of his own. 

337 


SEA PLUNDER 


“ Pilikea Pete,” he replied, and grinned even more 
widely. 

“ Pilikea Pete!” exclaimed Neil. “ But where is 
he? Do you mean that black devil is aboard?” 

But Haviland shook his head, sure now he had 
a neat surprise for Sherwood. 

“ We left him in your stead aboard the Ballenas,” 
he said, dryly. 

“No!” burst out Neil. Before he could ask the 
why and wherefore, Clare O’Brine, noting his stupe¬ 
faction and anxious to give him a chance to recover 
himself, gently interposed. 

“ You must allow me to introduce my father, 
Mr. Clifford O’Brine, Neil,” and she nodded toward 
the spectacled man beside her whom Sherwood had 
about concluded must be the skipper. 

“ Your father!” echoed Neil, as they shook hands 
cordially. He looked from O’Brine to the others 
in augmented, rather than lessened, amazement. 
“ But how in the world did you all get aboard here 
together? Mr. O’Brine, whom we thought to be on 
one of the Johnston Islands; Mr. Haviland, last 
heard of in Liverpool; his bride from Honolulu; and 
Evans, of all persons, whom I last saw myself aboard 
that old blubber-boat, the Ballenas! It’s certainly 
a poser, and you’ll have to begin at the very begin¬ 
ning to explain it.” 

But the story was simple to tell. After leaving 
Honolulu with Pilikea Pete in his steam schooner, 
Iliokai or Sea Dog , Haviland and his bride had sailed 
down to the Christmas Islands and thence, zigzag- 
gingly, to Fanning, Washington, the Palmyra and 
338 


SEA PLUNDER 


Johnston Islands, on which last they had found 
Mr. Clifford O’Brine and Captain Wainwright. 

Hearing the nature of their quest and realizing 
their zigzagging course was just the method to aid 
him in his search for the missing lifeboat, O’Brine 
had easily induced them to take him aboard as a 
fellow member of their rescue expedition. But Cap¬ 
tain Wainwright had refused to leave the station 
until he could ship out on one of the company’s 
schooners and drop down to investigate what, if any¬ 
thing, remained of his former command. It was 
understood that, should O’Brine’s end of the search 
prove fruitless, he was to be landed at Jaluit, the 
main trading post of the Turner-MacKenzie Com¬ 
pany in the Marshalls. 

The gale had bothered them only to the extent of 
causing them to dowse sail and depend entirely on 
their own power. They had come upon the Ballenas 
just as she was busily retrieving that dead bull 
which, bloated with gas, was floating upside down 
on the surface, the identifying harpoon stuck in its 
exposed belly. Captain Yardley had already been 
interred in the sea, and First Mate Carthew was in 
active command. 

Leaving the Sea Dog to await their return with 
steam up, O’Brine, Pilikea and Haviland had vis¬ 
ited the grease-tanker and been greeted none too 
affably by Carthew. But what he could not find any 
excuse to withhold from them was the desired infor¬ 
mation that Clare O’Brine, Sherwood and Weymore 
Harbottle had formerly been aboard. He did brand 
them, however, as double-dyed villains. Not satis- 
339 


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fied with stabbing the skipper to death, according to 
his version, they had also stolen that eighty-thou- 
sand-dollar catch of ambergris! 

He became quite wrathy as he recounted the theft, 
so Pete had motioned the two to go above, while he 
remained to assuage the captain’s feelings in his 
usual bland way, and gain what further information 
he could. 

They were awaiting him, Haviland and O’Brine, 
near the square brick erection in the waist when 
Evans had slipped up to them and, under cover of 
the try-works, had advised them to put off in 
their one-lunged motor tender, leaving Pilikea 
behind! 

“ He’s down in the cabin right now, gentlemin,” 
whispered Evans, “ makin’ a separate deal with 
Carthew, I’ll bet, concernin’ that ambergrease should 
you find the deserters! Why not leave him behind 
then, on this blubber-ship, to suffer the same kind 
of slavery he forced on Harbottle, Sherwood, big 
Sam and myself!” 

“ Yes,” Haviland had agreed, grimly, “ and the 
same sort of torture he inflicted on me when he 
shipped me round the Horn on a tramp! It’s poetic 
justice, O’Brine! Let’s go!” And forgetting Evans 
entirely, he had straddled the rail. 

They had just shoved off in the motor boat to chug 
merrily back to the Iliokai when a man was seen to 
leap down from the starboard bulwark upon the 
cutting stage. Racing out along one of the thwart- 
ship planks, he dropped plump into the stern sheets 
beside Haviland, who was dividing his attention 
340 


SEA PLUNDER 


between the one-lunged sputtering motor and the 
tiller. He was their forgotten adviser, Evans! 

They had paid no heed, thereafter, to the excited 
calls of Pilikea when, in company with the hastily 
summoned Carthew, he had appeared on deck. Once 
aboard the Sea Dog, they knew, there would be 
nothing more to fear from the whaler. For not 
only was the Ballenas anchored by that bull whale 
towing on her manila hawser, but say she cut this 
adrift, which was hardly likely, the schooner could 
steam against the wind and show a neat pair of 
heels to the clumsy square-rigger! 

Within five minutes, they were all aboard the 
Sea Dog, the tender hoisted on her davits, and 
Pilikea Pete’s sizzling compliments had become a 
plaintive murmur in their wake. A while later only 
the three masts of the Ballenas stuck up above the 
horizon like broomsticks. 

“ Well, he’s either cock of that fo’c’s’le or else 
full master of the whole blubber-boat by now!” 
commented Sherwood. “ I mean Pilikea, of course! 
But what’s really bothering me is — what shall we 
do with that ambergris? As Carthew said, it right¬ 
fully belongs to himself and his crew. But we can’t 
go back there to return it because that would be to 
undo all this poetic justice on Pete — Why, what’s 
the matter?” he broke off at their sudden blank 
expression. “ Didn’t those chests,” and he gazed 
apprehensively at Clare — “ didn’t they come aboard 
with us?” 

She shook her head. 

“ I was so agitated by what happened to you,” she 
341 


SEA PLUNDER 


explained, “ and so troubled in getting you aboard 
that I could think of nothing else! But I guess, 
after all, I felt those chests had caused enough 
suffering without ending us up in a fight to recover 
them from the Japanese! And once we were safe 
on this schooner, I was so overjoyed at finding my 
father alive and aboard-” 

“ You mean, then, Clare?” he interrupted, prob- 
ingly. 

“ Yes,” she nodded. “ That the Japanese officer 
took the boxes away with him in his launch! He 
had no sooner towed us alongside than he turned 
about-” 

“ But surely some one here must have spied those 
chests under the awning! Didn’t anybody try to 
stop and question him? You knew, Evans, about 
the loss of the ambergris from the Ballenas and 
certainly you must have been on watch for the 
boxes! ” 

“ That’s true,” admitted the Welshman, “ and I 
sartinly did glimpse them under thet awning. But 
when your whaleboat came close and I piped only 
you and Miss O’Brine down there for sure, I was 
put in mind of what must have happened to big 
Sam and pore Harbottle, and I jest kinder lost all 
track of things for a spell. Then when I came 
around, thet launch was too far off!” 

“ Well,” said Sherwood, recovering quickly and 
smiling up at the girl, “ that settles out of hand our 
delicate question of right and wrongful possession. 
But I think, Clare, we should spend our honeymoon 
342 




SEA PLUNDER 


among the Marshalls — Oh, haven’t you told them?” 
as she hung her head, blushing furiously. 

He began again, looking in boyish deference up 
at her father, whose eyes were twinkling behind 
their concealing lenses. 

“ You see,” hesitantly, “ after Clare and I — with 
Mr. O’Brine’s consent — get married,” and he 
gulped, “I — we intend to cruise among these 
islands and — and get the dope on the Japanese 
who now hold the mandate over the archipelago. 
It would make a ripping bunch of magazine articles, 
I think! But they won’t be written out of racial 
animosity; merely a personal grudge. The Japs in 
that launch stole the ambergris and I intend to get 
back at them by informing the whole world how 
firmly their nation is entrenching itself in these 
treaty isles!” 


THE END 


343 












































































